


Sanctuary

by Lululemonee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Betty Cooper, BAMF Jughead Jones, Creatures, F/F, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, More tags to be added, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Jughead Jones, Some characters just plain suck, Supernatural Elements, Very Alternate Universe, Violence, Witch!Betty, but i try to warn you ahead of time, some triggers, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lululemonee/pseuds/Lululemonee
Summary: The world has completely fallen apart. After the violent demise of her parents and coven, Betty Cooper must travel to a neighboring coven for sanctuary.When she finds herself in dangerous company, she also finds herself feeling safety from the last person she ever should.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, Other Background Relationships - Relationship
Comments: 40
Kudos: 116
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's my birthday and to celebrate I decided to post the first chapter of my first sci-fi AU attempt! 
> 
> I'm kind of excited. I've been playing with this idea for a while and I am experimenting with longer chapters. Please, please, please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Chapter One Song Choice : Broken People by Logic & Rag'nBone Man
> 
> WARNING : There is a very blatant sexual assault in this opening chapter. It is not graphic and it is brief, but it is assault.

Every story; every fable; every tale of folklore springs from a grain of truth. It was just over a century ago that the grain caught hold, seeded and bloomed. Just over a century ago, the world ended.

They had been dwelling within our world for millennia, lurking beneath the surface in caves and caverns; feeding in the safety of the shadows; never existing but in childhood stories and nightmares. Over the centuries they have been called many names: Nosferatu, demon, incubus, vampire.

But what emerged from the depths of the world after an eternity of being the unseen were not the beautiful, seductive creatures of romantic literature. They were not soulful beings full of remorse in their need for blood to survive.

They were beasts. Animalistic humanoid creatures with thin skin translucent enough to see the veins that ran through their spindly bodies. The blood that flowed through those veins was a blue so dark it appeared black. Their teeth were two rows of jagged points and attached loosely in their jaws like a shark’s; jaws that they could unhinge to better feed.

No one could remember the exact date that the world had ended. What were once undoubtedly grand metropolises were nothing more that great, towering stone ruins of neglect and decay. Miles upon miles of asphalt ran throughout the country, patches of tall, rambling weeds sprang through numerous crack and crevices. Despite the overgrowth and disrepair, the roads were still frequented by travellers, more so by foot traffic than actual motorized vehicles. These ancient roads were still easier, especially for those on foot, than trying to cut a path through the unencumbered wilderness. Only the packs really enjoyed the untamed wild and they were about the most uncivilized beings in existence. They were a vicious, feral group, even more so than the Night-Dwellers that had brought about the apocalypse.

The heel of Betty Cooper’s boot scuffed the surface of the sun-bleached pavement as she made her way along one of the vast, decrepit streets. The buildings and alleys around her had undoubtedly once been a grand city. No more. They stood as a hollow, vacant monument; a forgotten shell of the former glory of what once was. Historians claimed that when the end of civilization had come, the cities had been the first to fall. The great cavernous buildings and darkened labyrinth roadways that ran like veins between them served as a perfect haven for the Night-Dwellers.

They had swarmed the cities in droves, a flood of locusts devouring everything in their path. The humans at the time had tried to stand their ground, but eventually had been forced to flee to the safety of more open spaces; more sunlight.

That was one part of the ancient lore that was true. The Night-Dwellers could not bear the sunlight. They had severe allergic reaction that caused their black blood to boil like lava in their veins. It was mankind’s greatest defense against them.

The only reason Betty dared enter the city at the moment was because the sun was at its highest point in the sky and she was perfectly confident in her ability to make it back out again before it set. This confidence however, did not mean an easygoing trek. She kept her head on swivel, eyes narrowed and focused. Even with the shield of her sunglasses, the sun-glare was harsh. She was alert and observant, constantly checking over her shoulders and to her sides lest she be caught unaware. In the world, being alone meant being constantly vigilant or being dead. 

Betty had gotten used to being on her own and when it really came down to the nitty-gritty, it was safer to be by herself than with other people. If there was one thing that Betty had discovered a true talent for, it was surviving. She knew how to take care of herself. Another person would inevitably slow her down and she couldn’t afford that. 

She didn’t plan to stay that way though. It had been three months since that horrific incident that she wouldn’t let herself think about. Instead, she focused on her goal. She kept her head on swivel, her feet moving forward, and followed the directions her mother had given her. Any day now, she would turn on the two way radio tucked away safely within the confines of her backpack and she would make contact with the Greendale Coven. And then she would find her sanctuary.

She had let her mind wander for just the briefest of moments that she had almost missed the snarling, hissing, grunting noises coming from up ahead of her.

She stopped mid-step and used one hand poised flat about the top of her sunglasses to block the direct light from the sun.

And up ahead she saw him.

At least she assumed it was a him.

Or it _used_ to be a him.

The once-a-person was crouched of the remains of what appeared to be a decomposing animal, gnawing on the corpse. With slow clumsy movements, the creature brought large, bloody handfuls of flesh from the carcass to its own mouth, stuffed it full, and chewed.

Betty pulled her hunting knife from the scabbard she kept at the small of her back.

The creature was a Link.

Of course she would run into a fucking Link. She should have expected it.

If a man or a woman was bitten by a Night-Dweller and for whatever reason, the Night-Dweller chose not to drain them dry, the end result was Link. They were similar to the undead of old zombie tales but for one very important distinction; their hive brain.

A Link fed on dead, rotting flesh. They would feed on fresh meat if the opportunity arose, but they easily avoided so it was rare to see a Link take down an actual living creature. The danger of the Link was not in their predatory skills, but in their eyes. When a Link was sired by a Night-Dweller, they brain became intrinsically linked to that Dweller, hence the moniker. On their own, they operated solely on their baser instincts; eat, breathe, shuffle around, repeat. However, everything that they saw or came into contact with was transferred back to the Night-Dweller that had created them. They were worker bees that fed intel directly back to their queen.

The danger of the Link was that if it saw you, its sire saw you.

Betty gripped her knife the way her father had taught her; not too tight, not too loose, blade down, and crept a quickly and as quietly as she could toward the loudly masticating Link. She could see now that it had definitely been male.

His skin had taken on a greyish pallor upon his demise; it had started to rot away. There dark circles beneath his bulging, lifeless eyes. His hair had once been a sandy blond but had mostly fallen from his thin, balding scalp. There was a circle of drying blood around his lips which had receded back to show white gums and flesh stained teeth.

Another important thing to know about Links was that they were _alive._ If you stabbed or shot one in the heart or a major artery, it would eventually bleed out. The problem came in that their brains functioned at the lowest level; they had no nervous system left. They did not register pain. So until it bled out, it would keep coming for you. It would keep tracking your movements and sending all of those details back to the mothership as it were. Like the storybook zombies, the best way to kill a Link was its brain. Not just anywhere though. You couldn’t just shoot one in the head or stab it in the temple because of the aforementioned low functionality. The brain had to be severed from the spinal cord to incapacitate a Link.

Just as Betty had closed enough distance to deliver the death blow, the Link turned, still chewing, and lock eyes on her.

_Dammit._

Without another second of hesitation, Betty slapped her free hand down on the top of the Link’s head, jerked it to the side, and thrust her knife into the base of its skull, disconnecting it from the spine in one hit. The Link crumpled at her feet.

Adrenaline rushed through her body. She looked from left to right and back again and forced herself to take deep, steady breaths. She focused on stopping her hands from shaking as she wiped the Link’s blood from her blade with a red bandana she kept in the back pocket of her jeans. Betty didn’t enjoy killing but if there was one lesson to be shared with the world over it was how to be efficient at that very thing. She looked down at the thing that was once a man. Had he been kind? Had he had friends? A wife? Children? She shook the thoughts away and re-sheathed and sped from her previous walk to a steady, face-paced jog. She was able to shake off her empathetic thoughts but she was unable to shake off the feeling of the millions of eyes following her as she went.

When she reached the outskirts of the city, she pulled the two-way from her bag and made her daily attempt to contact someone at the Greendale Coven. She just needed to get into range. The problem was, she had no idea where the actual ‘range’ began. She needed to talk to somebody there. She needed to let them know that she was coming because…well…

Witches weren’t super welcoming of unexpected visitors.

Nothing but static.

Betty tucked the radio back into her pack and paused to look at the sky. It was nearing dusk and she was way too exposed.

By her estimation, she was about a mile outside of the city. It would have to do. She found an abandoned barn and climbed a rather questionable old ladder up to the loft, then pulled the ladder up after her. Once she was safely hidden and settled into the old structure, she mixed a handful of dirt with some oils and herbs she had harvested from the remnants of her coven’s garden before she had begun her journey. She rubbed the mixture over her pulse-points and through her hair.

_Witchcraft_ wasn’t casting spells and hexes and brewing potions. That was nonsense. Yes, witches were born with an inherent knowledge of nature and the elements. They had the knowledge of how to mix plants together for medicinal purposes and other ways they could be useful, such as how to mask their scent from anything that might be tracking them.

Their gardening ability, however, was not the thing about them that scared all of the non-witches. It was the genetic thing that terrified the others, the extra strand in a witch’s DNA that allowed them to access the parts of their brains that most humans were cut off from. Everything that a witch could do were things that every person was capable of but just didn’t understand how to get to that part of their brain.

Betty finished applying her salve suppressant then pulled the hood of her light pink zip up sweater over her head and settled onto her sleeping mat for the night.

She didn’t know what time it was when the noises woke her. Her stomach churned and her muscles ached with adrenaline as she curled in on herself. Once she coiled herself into the fetal position, she forced her muscles to completely still; she willed herself to stop breathing.

The sounds those creatures made were awful. Scratching and shrieking and hissing. The noises that emitted from the Night-Dwellers were contradictory which added to their disturbing quality; they were both thin and guttural, wet an gurgling while still sounding dry and hoarse. They were unnatural. Listening to them was like being trapped in the nightmare of the insane. Betty pressed her hands over her ears determined to hold onto her own sanity.

Every now and then in the distance, she heard an all too natural scream.

She closed her eyes and clamped her hands tighter.

Things began to quiet just before dawn. Betty remained curled in the fetal position all night. She didn’t move one muscle until the first ray of sunlight peeked through the slatted ceiling and touched her leg. As if the light reanimated her, she uncurled her stiff muscles and climbed to her feet. She did not linger in the barn. She packed up and headed out, she had a long way to go.

The road she traveled was yet another that had long since been forgotten; cracked and faded and overgrown with weeds and brush. Betty chewed on a chunk of raw potato as she dug for the radio from her bag. She swallowed with a gulp before she clicked the device on.

“Hello?” she said, “Hello, is anyone there?”

Static.

Her jaw began to ache from gritting her teeth and she quickly wiped an unbidden tear from her cheek, “Please? Can anyone hear me?”

All at once, the radio crackled to life.

“Hello?” a disembodied voice broke through.

The tears started flowing freely at the sound of the stranger’s voice. Betty gripped the radio with both hands and fell to her knees, “Hello? Hello?”

“Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.”

_Antigonish_! It was the coven’s code phrase! It was suddenly so real that she was so close! The response all but burst from Betty's lips, “He wasn’t there again today! I wish, I wish he’d go away!”

“Greetings! You’re speaking with Bret. What coven are you with?” the voice (now Bret) asked.

“I….I was with Sweetwater.”

“Was?”

“I need sanctuary.”

There was a long, static laced pause,” What happened?”

“We were attacked. My guess would be werewolves,” she gave an involuntary sniffed and wiped at both of her damp cheeks, “There was…there was lot of blood.”

“I’m very sorry that happened to you. We didn’t know. What is your name?”

“Elizabeth Cooper. Betty. I have family with your coven.”

“Cooper?” he said as though trying to place the name, “Blossom. Polly.”

“Yes!”

“You escaped the attack?”

“My mother hid me.”

“How old are you, Betty?”

“Nineteen.”

Another pause. Then, “Betty Cooper, Greendale Coven grants you sanctuary. You will be safe and welcome here amongst your family. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” her muscles all seemed to relax at once and she folded in on her self in relief.

“How far out are you, Betty?”

“Five days, I think.”

“Excellent. I want you to check in everyday when the sun is at its peak. Keep your pace steady. We’ll be looking for you.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“Betty?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll be safe here.”

After she had put the radio away, Betty burst into an almost hysterical combination of laughter and tears. She stayed there, kneeling in the middle of the road, tears streamed down her cheeks as she gasped for breath. Greendale knew that she was coming. They were going to give her sanctuary. She was going to be with Polly again! Now, all she had to do was get there.

As her breathing started to calm, she heard a movement behind her. She spun around and pulled the dagger from her boot.

Staring back at her when she turned was a pair of deep blue, intelligent eyes. They were set in a large, fluffy white head. A dog. If her memory served, he or she was a sheepdog.

“Hi, there,” she knelt and held our her hand, “Aren’t you a pretty fella. Are you all alone out here? How clever you must be.”

With only the slightest hesitation, the dog skulked forward, sniffed at her hand. The sweet thing then licked her fingers, stepped even closer to her and snuggled up under her chin to lick her face as she stroked at his soft fur.

“You certainly are a sweetie,” she cooed and fed him a piece of cheese from her bag. “Alright, fella,” she said and gave him another pat on the head, “you’re with me, now. Deal?”

The dog’s ears perked and his head tilted ever so slightly in silent agreement.

“What shall we call you?” She thought for a moment. The pup sat and panted, his tongue lolled out and dripped saliva on her wrist, “You’re hot aren’t ya, boy? You’re a hot doggy.” She chuckled, “Maybe that’s what I’ll call you! Hot Dog!”

The sweet slapped his tongue around his mouth as in approval and then went back to panting.

“I like it,” Betty grinned and scratched him behind both ears, “That’s your name now. Hot Dog.”

Hot Dog barked twice and wagged his tail. With that decided, Betty and her new companion continued their journey toward their new home.

After another two hours of walking, Betty’s stomach began to growl. She looked down at Hot Dog, “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

Hot Dog tilted his head in a way that she as an affirmative. Her new friend’s agreement was all the encouragement that she needed. She pulled a slingshot from her bag and veered off of the road into the woods.

An hour later, she had skinned and cleaned to fat brown rabbits. She and Hot Dog shared the first while the second one roasted over a spit on a fire she had started. That one, she would wrap in cloth and save for their dinner. The pelts she had washed in a stream and laid out over a rock to dry.

She would need to get moving again soon. She needed to find shelter for the night. The lightness of her mood at having finally made contact with Greendale was receding into the dread that always came with sundown. That in mind, she put out her fire and destroyed the evidence of it as best she could. She packed up her kill and the furs, then she and Hot Dog continued on.

That night, she and Hot Dog holed up in an abandoned convenience store bathroom. She applied her herb mixture to her pulse points and then also rubbed it through the dog’s fur. She and Hot Dog curled up close together on her sleeping mat laid out on the hard tiled floor of the locked bathroom. Her new companion proved his intelligence when the sounds started that night. He never whimpered, he never whined, he never barked. He was smart enough that he knew exactly what was out there and he wanted no part of it.

In the morning, Betty did a quick sweep of the store to see if there was anything that could be of use. There wasn’t, so the pair got back on the road.

When the sun was at its highest, she pulled out her radio and recited the first lines of _Antigonish._ The feeling in her stomach was different now that she was confident someone would answer her call. It was Bret’s newly familiar voice once again that replied.

“How are you holding up, Betty?” he asked after the familiarities were out of the way.

“I’m doing okay, Bret. I’ve made a friend,” she said as she scratched Hot Dog behind the ear.

“A friend?”

“Yep. His name is Hot Dog. I think he’s a Sheepdog.”

Bret chuckled into the radio, “Well, we look forward to meeting both of you. Are you making good time?”

“I think so. Our pace is steady and we don’t take breaks until nightfall.”

“Good. You can rest when you get here. The important thing is to keep moving.”

“I know.” She said, then asked, “How is my sister?”

“Polly is healthy and well. She knows you’re on your way and is anxious to see you.”

“Tell her I love her and I can’t wait to see her, too.”

“Of course. Keep safe, Betty. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Betty put away the radio, pulled out a little bit of her left over rabbit to share with Hot Dog and continued her direction down the road.

They had traveled close to another mile when Hot Dog stopped, lowered his head and let out a low, threatening growl. The unexpected action stopped Betty in her tracks. Going on instant alert, she pulled her knife from its sheath and scanned her surroundings. It was then that she heard the deep, steady rumble. She looked ahead of her on the road and spotted five dark silhouettes closing the distance between them at rapid speed. When they seemed to increase their speed, she knew that they had spotted her. For one hot moment, she contemplated ducking into the trees but she didn’t have time to cover her scent and if they were werewolves, simply hiding would do her no good. And predators always gave chase.

As the group drew nearer, Betty saw that the loud rumble came from the large black and chrome motorcycles they rode. They circled around her and her fist tightened around the handle of her knife. She would not be easy prey.

After they surrounded her, they stopped. The one directly in front of her cut off the engine and the rider dismounted. Betty knew at once that he wasn’t a wolf. Werewolves, when in human form tended to be bulky and overly muscled, bodybuilder types. Giants of men. While this man was finely muscled and just over six feet, his build was lean and graceful, like a cat.

Or a snake.

He took one step toward her as his companions too cut their engines and climbed from their rides.

“Hello, Pet,” came a gruff voice from behind her but Betty didn’t look toward it. She couldn’t have ripped her gaze from the man in front of her if she had wanted to. He wore a black leather jacket open over a gaping white tee shirt, tight black jeans ripped at the knees, fingerless leather gloves, and white suspenders that dangled loose from his hips. There was an intimidating handgun holstered at his hip. His hair was dark as midnight and hung in attractive tangles that peekabooed from beneath the gray wool crown edged cap her wore. But it was his eyes that held her entranced. They were a piercing, brilliant green; hypnotic like a basilisk.

With a great deal of effort, Betty forced herself to take account of the basilisk’s four comrades. They were all similarly attired in jackets and jeans. One had dark brown chin length hair and bright blue eyes almost as striking as the basilisk’s. The second had pale, almost sickly skin, murky blue eyes and greasy brown hair that hung limply over his forehead. The third had an olive tones complexion, close cropped dark hair, and the sharpest cheekbones Betty had seen. The fourth and final rider was tall enough to be a werewolf, with black hair, dark eyes, and a snake tattooed on his neck. The tattoo drew Betty’s attention.

No, they weren’t werewolves. They were –

“Serpents,” she murmured just under her breath.

Hot Dog released another growl and Betty touched the top of his head to calm him. The basilisk took another step forward and on instinct Betty lifted her knife. The basilisk held up one hand while the other went to his gun. All of the sudden, a large rough hand caught her under the chin and pulled her back against a solid body. A second hand reached around and plucked the knife from her grasp.

“You won’t be needin’ that, pet,” he said into her ear, his breath damp and unpleasant against her skin.

She started to channel her energy into sending an electric current across her skin to shock the bastard who was touching her, but before she could, he released her and she fell to her knees. Hot Dog barked and moved to lunge at her assailant, but Betty wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled the protective animal against her.

The basilisk crouched before her, putting him at eye-level, “I’m sorry we scared you.”

“You’re Serpents.”

“We are.”

Serpents were human, non-magic, but a very special kind of human nonetheless. They were chosen at the age of three and spent their entire lives training. They learned to fight, to track, to go days without sleep. Their whole existence was to hunt and kill. They weren’t prejudice either. They hunted night-dwellers, links, and werewolves. And witches.

She needed to be very careful and on her guard.

“What are you doing out here alone?” the basilisk asked.

“My co-colony was attacked.”

The basilisk eased his gun from his holster and straightened to stand. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, “Were you bitten?”

Betty’s stomach clenched and her mouth went dry. She leapt to her own feet and the barrel of the basilisk’s gun aimed at her face. Hot Dog snarled and Betty twisted her hand into the fur at the back of his neck. She glared straight into the basilisk’s green eyes.

“Do I look like I’ve been bitten?” she demanded.

“Difficult to tell. Sometimes the diseases don’t take effect for hours. Even days.” His jaw worked several times. There was a long pause. “We’ll need to see for ourselves.”

Betty did not like the way that sounded, “What do you mean?”

The basilisk took a deep breath, his gun still pointed right at her head, “I mean that I need you to strip down so we can examine you.”

“Like hell!” Betty spat and turned to dart for the tree line. Blue eyes and cheekbones blocked her path and forced her back.

“I’m afraid we can’t give you a choice.”

Betty stood stone still for what felt like several minutes and just stared down at her shoes. For one of those minutes, despite its brevity, the thought entered her mind that she would rather have died with her family back at Sweetwater that to suffer this humiliation and degradation. The feelings churned inside of her in violent waves. She peeled off her canvas jacket, followed by her pink hoodie. She shot daggers at the basilisk with her eyes as she peeled her undershirt over her head and shoved her blue jeans down her hips after she toed off her boots.

The basilisk’s haw tightened once again and she thought she saw a pained look cross his face, but it was there and gone so quickly she may have very well imagined it. Then he said three words, “All of it.”

Betty’s breath caught in her lungs. Every bad thing that had ever happened to her in her life couldn’t have compared to that moment. She fought back tears as she pushed off her socks. She felt the uncontrollable quiver of her chin as she unhooked her bra and slipped out of her panties. She didn’t even try to cover herself and she refused to cry. Sensing his companion’s distress, Hot Dog whimpered and bumped his furry head against her bare thigh.

“Check her,” the basilisk ordered.

Blue eyes started forward, but greasy pale skin held out a hand, “I got this one, Joaq.”

He stepped up behind her, made an appreciative sound that made Betty’s stomach turn, and then started running his calloused hands over her bare skin. Betty locked her gaze with the basilisk. He stared at her with a detached kind of clinical interest. Greasy, however, seemed anything but. He dragged his hands up her ribcage to cup her breasts and stroked his thumbs over her nipples.

“Kurtz, do your job and stop being a dick,” the basilisk snapped.

Greasy (Kurtz) flashed him a nasty grin, “I’m just being thorough, boss man.”

He moved on to her legs, ran his hands up her inner thighs. When he dragged a finger along the crease at the apex of her legs, Betty recoiled, nauseated from the blatant violation.

“She’s clean,” Kurtz said on a creepy smile as he stood. When he ran his finger beneath his nose to smell it, Betty’s insides cramped and she forced herself to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. She couldn’t use her powers. She couldn’t let on what she was. She just needed to get through this and get away from them.

She just needed to get to Greendale.

She quickly pulled on her clothes and shoes, “Were you thoroughly entertained? Are you satisfied? Can I go now?”

She started to break from their confining circle, but the basilisk caught her by the elbow. Betty jerked away from his touch.

“It’s not safe for a girl alone.”

“Believe me,” Betty said, her gaze fixed on greasy Kurtz, “I know that.”

The basilisk cast his own glare at Kurtz then back to her. His green eyes softened, “The nearest settlement is two weeks ride. We’ll take you.”

Oh, hell.

Of course they didn’t know the coven’s location. Nor could they ever find out. She needed to get away from them.

“I’d rather travel alone.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“What makes you think you get a say? Your man over there _checked_ me out. I haven’t been bitten. I’m not diseased. I should be allowed to go my way.”

“We have to protect the humans that are left in the world. We can make sure you make it to Riverdale safely.”

“What about Hot Dog? He can’t ride a motorcycle.”

The basilisk smirked, kind of, “We have a place for the dog.”

He jerked his chin toward cheekbones’ bike which did, indeed, have a large metal crate latched to the back. If she had to hazard a guess, Betty would bet it was used for the capture of werewolves.

“I want my knife back.”

The basilisk snapped his fingers, “Kurtz.”

Greasy Kurtz stepped forward and offered it to her. Betty took the weapon and suppressed the urge to stab him with it.

“Fine,” she said. She would figure out a way to get away.

Neck tattoo hoisted Hot Dog into the crate on the back of Cheekbones’ motorcycle. Kurtz reach out and twisted a strand of Betty’s hair around his finger and she _really_ had to fight the urge to stab him. “Climb on the back of my bike, pet.”

Before she could send him sprawling through the air, the basilisk took her upper arm and lead her to his own motorbike, “She’ll ride with me.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty practices caution in the company of her new travel companions and Jughead contemplates atonement. We also learn a little bit about Juggie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long!!! I am really paying attention to the world building on this one. I want to establish the rules. Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> So, y'all were really mad at Jug after the first chapter! He's got some groveling to do, huh? I don't think is going to fully redeem himself here, but hopefully he makes a few strides with you guys and with Betty!
> 
> WARNING : Attempted sexual assault in this chapter.
> 
> Chapter Two Song Choice : "Lean Back" by Sur

Chapter Two

Jughead thought she must have been the most beautiful creature that he had ever laid eyes on. She had stood straight and proud even as he’d forced her to strip off her clothing. That harsh indignity had not managed to rid her of _her_ dignity. Those brilliant green eyes had radiated righteous anger and defiance. She had maintained that stoicism throughout the entire endeavor; including the moment that Kurtz had no doubt taken advantage of her.

Jughead had hated himself in that moment. He could only tell himself that it was his job so many times before the phrase lost all meaning. It wasn’t as though he was getting his jollies off while he stood there and ogled her as she had been naked and abused. In the present state of the world, they had to be cautious; no one could be trusted. Everyone had an agenda and everyone lied.

Even him.

He reached for the proud, pretty blonde’s elbow and guided her away from Kurtz and toward his bike, “What’s your name?”

Her response to the inquiry was to fix him with a narrow, steely-eyed glare. Jughead raised both hands as though in surrender.

“Just trying to be polite.”

“Yeah,” she snarled, “the concept of politeness is pretty much shot to hell at this point, wouldn’t you say?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make the effort,” he swung a leg over his motorcycle and offered her his hand to help her mount behind him, “I’m Jughead.”

“God, did your parents hate you or something?”

“Pretty much.”

She stood perfectly still, arms crossed over her chest, and stared at him. He stared right back at her; waited her out. Eventually, she rolled those big green eyes at him and he knew that he’d won this one at least.

“Betty,” she introduced and placed her small hand in his waiting one.

He hit her with his most charming grin, “There, now. That wasn’t so hard.”

“Considering I was just molested, yes, it was.”

Jughead felt his jaw tighten, “We’re just doing our job, Betty.”

Even to his own ears, that sounded weak.

“Forgive me if I call bullshit on that.”

“Let me—”

“What part of your job description involves sexual assault?”

Jughead met her steady gaze with his own. He wasn’t one to make promises. He never had been. Promises had to be kept, and if they were kept, it led to expectations. He had his purpose that he was working toward and there was no room in his life for expectations. But as he looked into that exquisite, stern set face of hers, he felt an accountability take root that had in all honesty been building within him for a while. Then, to his almost horror, he heard his own voice speak before the logic of his brain could catch up.

“He won’t touch you again, I swear. He won’t touch anyone again.”

He saw something shift behind the glass of her eyes. He wasn’t certain as to what it was, but her expression softened and she climbed on behind him on the bike. She tucked herself in snug against his back, her firm thighs bracketed his own, and he arms wrapped tight around his waist.

“Just to be clear,” she said, “this doesn’t mean that I trust you.”

Jughead didn’t even try to suppress his smirk, “Yeah? That’s okay. I don’t trust you either.” He started the bike, revved the engine, and then shouted over his shoulder, “I’ll keep you safe, though. Us humans are an endangered species. We have to stick together.”

Betty did her best not to scoff at the admittedly magnetic Jughead’s comment. It did help to alleviate any guilt she might feel in her deception. Endangered species her ass!

When everything had first gone to hell and the Night Dwellers had emerged followed almost at once by the wolf packs, witches too had chosen to reveal themselves as well. They had offered to stand with the non-magic humans in battle. They had been met with suspicion, ridicule, and eventually, violence and genocide. When marshal law was ordered, witches were tacked onto the list right alongside of the Links and Wolves to shoot on sight and shoot to kill.

The motorcycle jolted forward with an abruptness that pulled Betty out of her thoughts and had her tightening her grip on the Serpent in front of her. It felt good to wrap herself around him; something she would admit to herself and only ever to herself. His body was lean and firm under her fingers and he was warm; he seemed to radiate heat.

Her eyes kept darting back over her shoulder to the Serpents that followed Jughead’s lead. He was clearly the one in charge. She kept focusing on the rickety, rusted metal crate that they had shoved Hot Dog into. She knew it was more secure than it looked; it had to be. Even if not very comfortable. The Serpents may not consider a Werewolf’s safety of high priority, but they would make damn sure that once they had caught him or her in that crate, he or she wouldn’t be able to get out.

The implications made by the fact that this group of men carted such a thing around with them were horrifying. Thoughts of the unfortunate creatures that had found themselves unlucky enough to have been forced into that metal deathtrap twisted and burned in Betty’s psyche as their little convoy sped along the bumpy, broken road. Jughead seemed, for lack of a better word, _kind_ enough on the surface—but he thought that she was human—a non-magic human. He claimed that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her and in the moment, she had honestly believed him. But again, he didn’t know that she was a witch.

It was _that_ —that horrible mentality that just because something or someone was _other,_ that they were to be feared; destroyed. That was the mentality that he parents, may they rest in a state more peaceful than their end had been, had spent their lives fighting against. It was the ignorance that they had raised their children to fight against.

That wasn’t to say that all creatures out there were good. Betty would happily stand in line to watch the pack that had attacked her coven be put down, one rabid dog at a time.

_The day had been clear and sunny with a cool breeze that kept the air comfortably warm rather than hot. Flowers were abloom; birds were out; flora and fauna were out in the open and abundant in the little valley of the Sweetwater River where they had made their home. It was a perfect date to celebrate her nineteenth birthday._

_It was a day all about Betty._

_Though she would deny it if confronted, Betty had always been the favored child. It was a possible by product of being the youngest of her siblings but it seemed that her parents’ doting increased exponentially when their two eldest left the nest._

_When she had turned fifteen, her parents had sent her older brother, Chic away with no explanation. When she had asked about it, she had watched her parents get all tense and quiet before they finally just told her that it wasn’t anything for to concern herself over. Even her older sister, Polly had finally demanded that she drop the subject._

_So she had dropped it; but she could never stop wondering where her brother had been shipped off to._

_Two years after Chic, Polly had left as well, though under much happier circumstances. She had married Jason Blossom of the Greendale coven. The Blossoms were well respected witches and distant relatives, though the relation didn’t seem to make much of a difference in the new world. There were bigger issues plaguing mankind than if third or fourth cousins wanted to marry. And Jason worshipped Polly. They were a good match._

_But even their pride in the eldest daughter’s union did not diminish the favoritism they showed for their youngest – and so in the absence of her siblings, there was not even the smallest distraction to draw their attention from her on her nineteenth birthday._

_The entire village had been invited to the celebration and the entire village had shown up. The Coopers would expect no less that full attendance to their pride and joy’s party. There was laughter and food and presents and games. It was a beautiful, simple, fun, and innocent._

_They had been sitting ducks when the attack had come._

Betty pulled herself from the unpleasant memory and focused on her present predicament. She had made contact with Greendale. They knew that she was coming. She was step closer to sanctuary; a step closer to _Polly._

The appearance of the Serpents had put her two steps back. They couldn’t learn that she was a witch and they sure as hell couldn’t learn the location of the coven.

Serpents weren’t exactly known for their mercy or tolerance.

She zeroed in on the Jughead, focused on the nape of his neck. The skin there was pale and delicate looking when she knew that the man before her was anything but delicate. He’d killed. Most likely he’d maimed and tortured and if what was whispered about the Serpents held any truth, he’d enjoyed it. In all of her childish fantasies of adventure, never once had she imagined herself in the company of Serpents; murderers.

He had said he would keep her safe, and there was something, a gut instinct that made her desperately want to believe him. So she reminded herself that he was _not_ some benevolent stranger; that these men were _not nice men_.

She needed to plan her escape. If only she could blast them with her mind and escape into the woods, but the first lesson that every witch learned was to use their powers sparingly.

The source of a witch’s power was the mind, the brain. It was like any other muscle and like any muscle, it grew fatigued with excessive use. If she used the amount of power it would take to incapacitate five grown, strong men; strong soldiers; it would deplete her strength. She would have to sleep almost immediately which would give them time to wake. They would know what she was and when they came to, they would hunt her.

She couldn’t take that risk. She had to think of another means of escape.

They had been riding for hours but Jughead couldn’t find it in him to be upset, not when he had _her_ pressed against him.

There was something about her; her defiant eyes, her sunshine hair, her unyielding stance, and classically beautiful features. She gave off an air of strength laced with vulnerability and somehow Jughead knew that he _needed_ to protect her.

His mind wondered back to the scene of her ‘examination.’ Kurtz hadn’t just crossed a major line; he’d set the damn line on fire.

He was a new member of Jug’s crew, the man's own former patrol having recently been disbanded and the members reassigned. Jughead hadn’t fully realized what it was that he’d been taking on when Kurtz had been assigned to him, but after that fucked up stunt, he made himself a vow that as soon as he could get him alone, he was going to castrate the sonofabitch.

Slowly.

His jaw had begun to ache from clinching his teeth. He needed to ease up or he’d crack a damn molar. He took a deep breath through his nose, pushed it out through his mouth, and willed the muscles in his face to relax. He forced his focus to the landscape ahead of him.

The best and worst day of Jughead's life had been his third birthday when he had been selected for the Serpents. His father had been the leader of the Serpents’ right hand man at the time so Jughead’s selection had been a surprise to no one.

Hell, it had been expected.

Most people were shocked he hadn’t come out of his mother’s womb with the tattoo birth-marked on his bicep.

The Jones men had a long, steady history with the Serpents that dated all the way back to their founding. He had been in his sixth year of training, nine years old, when his father had taken over as commander of the Serpents. From that point forward, the expectation from his instructors went through the roof. If he wasn’t the best in any given situation, they wanted to know why. If he allowed himself even the slightest amount of slack, they demanded to know why he wasn’t performing to the best of his ability. Other trainees instinctively looked to him for guidance. He learned from an early age to step up and take control of any given scenario, not because he wanted the responsibility but because others expected it of him and therefore, if he didn’t, no on else would. He'd _had_ to take the lead in order to avoid absolute chaos.

He graduated training at sixteen and was assigned to his father’s patrol; once again to no one’s surprise. He was given command of his own patrol at eighteen and seriously considered for the leadership role at twenty-one when his father…abdicated.

The position eventually went to a serpent with more seniority, but the powers that be had made a point to take Jughead aside and assured him that the job would be his in a matter of years. He had impressed everyone to no end with how he had dealt with his father’s – situation.

Of course, they didn’t know what had really gone down. Not even the half of it.

He shook the thought away before he could let his mind go to that dangerous place. 

In truth, he had no real desire to take over the Serpents. He’d want to if he felt there was a chance in hell that he’d be able to make a real difference but when it came down to it, the Serpent leader was a figurehead that answered to the council – and he and the council did _not_ see eye to eye.

Though again, _they_ were not aware of not eye to eye they saw things.

Training began at age three, as did the brainwashing. It wasn’t until he was on patrol under his father that he had truly begun to question – well – everything.

And his father had encouraged that in him.

He had been given the luxury of handpicking his crew when he had been promoted to patrol commander. He had chosen soldiers that had a history of thinking outside of the box and finding creative solutions when problem solving. After years of gentle guidance from his father, he knew how to subtly ease his team into not buying into _everything_ the council and the Serpents had spoon fed them all since birth. He imparted on them the importance of thinking for themselves.

At twenty-two, Jughead had had four years with his team. He’d never lost a man because his squad used their brains as well as their muscle and while they all certainly still had their prejudices, he was slowly helping them to unlearn their years upon years of brainwashing.

Until, of course, Kurtz.

Kurtz had been assigned to his team by the de facto Serpent leader, Mustang, and Jughead would swear on everything sacred that the petty bastard had done it just to piss him off because his panties were in a twist over how close Jug had been to being appointed in his stead.

Kurtz was the opposite of everything that Jughead looked for in a team member. He was impulsive, hotheaded, prejudice as hell, and didn’t think at all before he acted. Jughead’s guys would _never_ have pulled a stunt like the one Kurtz had pulled with Betty. It served as further proof to Jughead how far off path the Serpents had skewed.

He was once again brought back to the present when he felt Betty shift behind him. They hit a particularly deep groove in the road that jolted them enough that she had to tighten her hold around his torso.

He didn’t allow his mind to linger on how nice that felt. Instead, he once again focused on his surroundings.

It was one of the best parts of being a Serpent; being allowed out in the world. Even with all of the dangers, there was something innately beautiful in the untamed wilderness. Something about it, the darkness, the underlying threat of menace in every shadow, something in it all called to something that lurked within Jughead. Riverdale was the colony that he always circled back to, but out there, amidst the creatures and the dangers and the death, that was where he felt the most at home.

But if he himself found a thrilling kind of serenity in the peril, he did not ever strive to put his men as risk, ever, and as his eyes scanned the horizon, he noted that the sun was hanging low in the sky and they needed to find shelter for the night.

He threw a hand signal over his shoulder to Sweet Pea who immediately broke out of formation and sped ahead of the rest of the crew. He was the best scout Jughead had. If there was a tactically advantageous structure fit for bunking down in the vicinity, Sweet Pea would sniff it out in no time.

He felt Betty shift around behind him again and knew that she had to be uncomfortable. Anybody who wasn’t used to being on a bike everyday would be after riding for the length of time they had been. If he were a betting man, he’d lay ten to one that her knee joints were swollen, her thighs were cramping, and her ass was numb.

Part of him wondered if she’d be complaining were it not for the noise of the wind and even the thought of it brought a smirk to his lips.

Somehow, he doubted it. Even from just the limited interaction they’d had, she didn’t seem the complaining type.

It wasn’t a half an hour later that Sweet Pea reappeared in Jughead’s line of sight. He watched his lieutenant cut a u-turn about a hundred yards ahead and Jughead eased back into the second slot of the staggered formation, allowed Sweet Pea to take the lead.

They rode for another twenty minutes before Sweet Pea guided them down a short dirt drive that led to an old two-story neo-classical house, well secluded by flourishing oak trees, maple trees, and vine after vine after vine of kudzu.

Again, Jughead felt himself grin. As always, Sweet Pea didn’t let him down.

The troupe circled to the back of the house where there was an old, dilapidated barn for them to secure the bikes.

Betty climbed off the back of Jughead’s motorbike as soon as he had killed the engine and couldn’t stop the wince from crossing her face as her legs almost buckled beneath her. There was pain in locations of her body that she’d honestly had no idea that there _were_ muscles. She glanced up just in time to see the small smirk and mischievous twinkle in Jughead’s pretty green eyes.

“You get used to it,” he said simply as he withdrew his weapon from its holster at his hip then turned to address his men. “Okay!” He called out, “we go two by two. Joaquin and Fangs, take the back and the second level. Sweet Pea and Kurtz, you’re on the front and the first. I want a clean sweep and for fuck’s sake, do not fire your weapon unless you have no other choice, heard?”

“Heard!”

Betty caught sight of Kurtz’s gaze skimming along the lines of her body and felt herself unconsciously take a step closer to Jughead just as the tall one with a snake tattoo on his neck, Sweet Pea, stepped to Jughead’s side.

“Why am I not with Fangs, Jug?” the taller young man demanded, his expression unhappy.

Jughead checked the clip in his handgun, “You know why, Pea.”

“But-“

“No,” Jughead interrupted, “you’re my best and I need someone to keep an eye on that nutjob. I’d do it myself but I’m sticking with the package.”

“I’m sorry,” Betty snapped, “the package is a human and has a name.”

She watched Jughead’s dark brows jump up his forehead as her comment, “Unless you wanna switch places.”

Sweet Pea cast a glance at her then back to Jughead, “I’ll take the nutjob.”

With that he stalked off.

Cheekbones, or Fangs, apparently, released Hot Dog from confinement and the sweet, loyal animal rushed immediately to Betty’s side and plopped himself down right on her feet. Jughead’s darted down to the dog and then back up to Betty, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You’ve got a protector for life,” he said.

Betty reach down and tangled her fingers in Hot Dog’s soft fur, “I like dogs. They let you know exactly what they’re thinking.”

“Unlike people?”

“Unlike people.”

The group of Serpents descended on the house, knees bent, they moved stealthily through the yard before the split off in half to enter from both the front and back doorways of the house. Jughead leaned against the doorframe and stared out the partially open barndoor. Betty stood behind his shoulder and stared across the yard at the old house.

It had probably once been palatial with its wrap around porch, towering white columns, and large picture windows. The windows had since been boarded up, the stone porch was cracked, and the columns were crumbling. The walls, once white, were graying and dingy and yards of ivy crawled up the sides as though trying to strangle any remaining beauty from the structure. The sight was enough to cause a deep melancholy in the pit of Betty’s stomach. To see something that had so clearly been beautiful once reduced to such a state of decay was heartbreaking.

Someone had at one time loved this building.

The way she had loved her coven.

Years from now, what would the buildings of her home look like? Decomposing houses being slowly suffocated by unchecked foliage?

Betty felt the familiar burning of tears behind her eyes but fought them back in a familiar battle against her emotions.

Sweet Pea appeared on the porch a flashed a series of hand signals which apparently meant ‘all clear’ because Jughead took her by the elbow and lead her toward the house with a grunt of “Let’s go.” 

The interior of the house was more of the same depression. Broken railing, scratched floors, and peeling paint. The rooms were barren save the occasional piece of broken, useless furniture; broken furniture that Sweet Pea and Fangs were gathering and tossing into a pile.

“What are they doing?” Betty whispered to Jughead.

“Firewood.”

Betty was contemplating how she was going to slip away to apply her scent concealing oils when she noticed Kurtz and Joaquin as they dragged a torn, dirty red sofa into the room. Jughead began breaking down the pile of furniture even more. Joaquin and Kurtz disappeared again, presumably to search the house for anything else of use. They barely spoke but each member of the team seemed to know exactly what each other member was doing. Everyone had a job and they performed it quickly and efficiently. Betty was reluctantly impressed.

She watched Jughead and Fangs crouch in the center of the room and compile pieces of broken wooden furniture into a pyramid shape. If only the majority of non-magic humans, Serpents in particular, weren’t such assholes when it came to witches, she could make life so much easier on them, snap her fingers, focus her mind just a little, and start that fire like it was nothing. It was actually one of the first things a witch learned, to start a fire with the heat from her mind. Betty didn’t even have to concentrate to do it.

But…alas, the world was full of dicks. So she stood back and watched them fight with a lighter and some dried kindling that Fangs had gathered from outside.

Eventually, the fire was started and Betty was curled up in the corner of the red sofa with Hot Dog in a coil at her feet, his fluffy body served as a barrier between his newfound master and these men that he didn’t quite trust. She watched as Joaquin roasted some kind of bird over the fire for them to eat, Fangs broke down some more furniture to burn, Sweet Pea and Jughead were convening in the doorway, and Kurtz sat in the corner of the room and stared at her.

When the cooked meat was distributed, Jughead sat beside Betty on the sofa while the other Serpents settled in a circle around the fire to eat. Jughead earned himself some brownie points with Hot Dog when he shared some of his own dinner after the pooch had inhaled his portion in two bites. The sky outside had turned a brilliant orangish-pink and the Serpents seemed to be enjoying their last moments of relaxation before darkness fell for the night. They traded quips and barbs and ‘war stories.’

Intrigued, Betty remained quiet and observed their interactions. There seemed to be a deep seeded trust amongst most of them and an almost overwhelming sense of respect and devotion from them toward Jughead.

The exception to this seemed to be Kurtz. He was an odd man out. The other Serpents regarded him with trepidation…a borderline wariness that roused Betty’s curiosity. Why were they so cautious of him?

“Being a Serpent is the best job in this fucked up world,” Kurtz said around a mouthful of half-chewed dinner.

In her peripheral vision, Betty saw Jughead’s brow furrow in contemplation before he replied, “And why is that?”

The question caught Betty off-guard. She’d always been under the impression that all Serpents shared in Kurtz’s opinion. They were adrenaline junkies addicted to the danger, the freedom, and the power trip; they got off on being able to do horrible things without having to answer to anyone.

“Are you kidding?” came Kurtz’s unsurprising response, “name anyone who has it better than we do! We see something we want, we take it. Unlimited gas and travel privileges. Someone gets in the way, we knock them back out of the way.”

Betty could feel the anger fire up in the pit of her belly. Her fingers curled into her palms and she had to fight her inclination to send him flying across the room. Already perfectly attuned to her state of mind, Hot Dog let out a low snarl. Betty was a little shocked when Jughead reached a hand down to soothe her companion.

Then, Fangs spoke out to Kurtz and surprised her even further.

“Dude,” he said, “you’re the reason most people think that all Serpents are assholes.”

Kurtz smirked, “It makes them fear us.”

Joaquin spoke next, “It also makes them reluctant to help us when we need it.”

“Serpents don’t need help,” Kurtz spat. 

“Everyone needs help,” Fangs countered.

“Not us,” Kurtz proclaimed and leaned back on his elbows on the floor, “we’re gods.”

Betty noted that Jughead had not engaged but observed in a contemplative manner, similar to how she had seen her father observe a withering plant before he decided if it needed saving or destroying. If Betty got a vote, she’d vote that he needed to be destroyed.

But maybe she was bias.

Then, Jughead broke his silence.

“Our Job as Serpents isn’t to be feared and we sure as hell aren’t gods. We’re all too human. And our purpose in this life is to protect those who can’t protect themselves.” 

The way he’d phrased his reply had struck Betty as odd. It wasn’t a credo she had ever heard associated with the Serpents. She couldn’t keep herself quiet.

“I thought a Serpents job was to track down preternatural creatures and destroy them?” she said, facing Jughead full on for the first time that evening.

Sweet Pea responded first, “Don’t you mean supernatural?”

“I said what I meant,” Betty snapped.

Jughead chuckled, “Don’t mind Sweet Pea. Big words scare him.”

“Fuck you, Jonesy.”

“Flirt.”

And just like that, it seemed most of the tension that had built up in the room broke as the Serpents all burst out in varying degrees of chuckles. Betty laughed along with them but couldn’t but note that Kurtz did not share in the merriment. In fact, he had lost his face had lost his sleazy smirk and deepened into a scowl.

As the laughter quieted, Jughead addressed Betty’s question, “The Serpents official motto has always been ‘In unity, there is strength.’ Over time, the meaning behind the motto has been twisted to suit the purposes of the powers that be but I’ve always taken it to mean that we, all of us, need to stand together against the Night Dwellers.”

“All of us?” Betty questioned and prayed that he couldn’t hear the way her heartrate had quickened.

Sweet Pea chuckled, “Your bleeding heart is showing, Jonesy.”

Jughead answered him with a grin but continued talking, “I don’t adhere to the belief that all preternatural creatures are bad anymore than I believe that all strictly human creatures are good.”

Kurtz sat up, “Are you serious right now? You say that like you believe they’re human! Wolves and witches?”

“They are,” Jughead stated simply.

Betty would swear that she could see steam coming from Kurtz’s ears.

Jughead seemed to realize he needed to back down…at least for the time. “I think that’s enough political speak for tonight. It’s getting dark. Kurtz, you and I will take first watch. Sweets and Fangs, you’re on deck. Then Joaquin and Kurtz again. Then Fangs and I till sunup. Let’s go.”

Betty didn’t know how long she had been sleeping when she had been awakened by a heavy body pressing her into the cushions of the sofa, a large hand covered her nose and mouth and held her head down. Kurtz’s moist unpleasant breath dampened the skin at her ear. She tried to push him away, but he was heavy and used his legs to pin her own. She had no leverage.

“Don’t worry, pet,” he breathed into the shell of her ear, “this’ll only hurt a little.”

She squirmed beneath him, her eyes darted around what she could see of the room. She didn’t see Hot Dog anywhere, but she would swear she could hear a faint barking in the distance.

What had this psychopath done with her dog!?!

She spotted Jughead asleep in the corner. She tried to scream, the sound muffled completely within Kurtz’s clammy palm on her face. She felt his sharp knuckles dig into her pubic bone as he went for the snap of her jeans. She managed to claw his cheek which elicited a hiss from him and dislodged him enough that she was able to make a small squeak, but he recovered too quickly and got a grip on her mouth once more.

“You bitch,” he rasped.

What Betty didn’t see was that he small squeak had been enough to stir Jughead. He woke and spotted what was happening and was on his feet in less than a second. Betty didn’t see him draw his gun and cross the room toward them. She didn’t see him raise his gun to Kurtz’s head and open his mouth tell the man to get the fuck off of her. She didn’t see Sweet Pea and Fangs enter the room for their shift change. She didn’t see Joaquin wake.

She didn’t see any of this.

All she saw, all she felt was Kurtz’s repulsive hands on her body. So she focused her mind, drew on her power, and sent him in a violent arch across the room, away from her body, and slammed him into the wall at the far side of the room. As Kurtz bounced off of the wall and crashed into the floor, Betty noticed the eyes of the other four people in the room that were focused on her.

Jughead still held his gun, though it wasn’t trained on anything. His eyes were distant and glazed and his mouth hung slightly agape.

Betty sat up on the sofa and tried to get her breathing under control as she realized just how much trouble she was in.

Then, Kurtz got to his knees, spat a mouthful of blood to the floor, glared up at her, and hissed out that word that was basically equivalent to a death sentence for her.

“WITCH!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, has Juggie at headed in the right direction with you? Are you worried about Betty? Do you hate Kurtz even more? Please, please, please let me know your thoughts! Leave a comment, leave a kudos, I crave your feedback!!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Serpents react to Betty's witchiness and we find out that someone is out there looking for her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING : PLEASE READ : This chapter is very dark with uncomfortable themes and violence. The violence is graphic and I do not shy away from detail. It may not be everyone's cup of tea. I am actually a little nervous to post because, again, it is descriptive. Please be aware of this going in. However, in my defense, the character, well, he needed killing. 
> 
> Chapter Three Song Choice : "Run Baby Run" by The Rigs

Chapter Three : 

“ _WITCH!_ ”

With that one word, time seemed to slow. Her deep, ragged breathing and the abnormally loud pounding of her heart was the only sound Betty was able to hear. She focused on Jughead, who had pulled his gaze away from where Kurtz had risen to his feet and locked that basilisk stare on her. She eased herself to her knees on the sofa and the movement must have startled Fangs and Sweet Pea from their stupor as they both reacted by training their weapons on her. She stilled.

Jughead kept his gun angled to the side away from her, but his gaze remained steady. Behind him, Joaquin struggled to disentangle himself from his bedroll. Jughead’s eyes seemed to plead with her in some way, like he was trying to telepath some kind of message to her with them, but all Betty could feel was her own panic starting to set in. She focused on the adrenaline that pumped through her veins; she knew that she could tap into that for the extra boost of energy that she was about to need.

She zeroed in on Jughead’s cool, green gaze and breathed out two simple words that she found she truly, deeply meant, “I’m sorry.”

Then, everything sped up.

Betty pulled in a lungful of air, focused every ounce of energy that she had on Jughead—and pushed.

The beautiful, dark haired Serpent toppled backwards, his ankles connected with Joaquin and the two of them went down in a heap, a mass of tangled limbs. Immediately, Betty switched her focus to Fangs and Sweet Pea in the doorway and without preamble, sent the heads clunking together with enough force that the two of them crumpled to the floor in a daze.

With one last push and the last of her reserves of mental energy, she Kurtz’s head smacking into the wall for a second time—and then a third just for good measure. He slumped forward in lethargy at the same moment her feet hit the floor.

And then she ran.

As her legs pumped and her body darted through the dark, unfamiliar maze of rooms, she called out in desperation, “Hot Dog!?”

She was losing energy at an alarming rate and knew she would have to reply on adrenaline and survival instinct to get her as far as it could. She could hear Hot Dog’s frantic barks and followed the noise. She came to a barricaded door at the far back corner of the house, heard scratching at the door. She didn’t even pause in her stride, but threw her body into the closed door, knocked it open with her shoulder and kept moving.

Hot Dog ceased his barking and immediately fell into step with her pace as she raced across the room to the solitary window. She yanked her jacket from her shoulders, wrapped it around her elbow and broke the glass before she hoisted Hot Dog through it, and then herself. She did a cursory scan to the left and right, sent a silent prayer to whatever deity might be out there, and then she and Hot Dog made a break for the tree line in the distance where she hoped against hope that they could find some half decent cover before her body shut down and she passed out.

The room was immaculate and sterile with white marble floors, white washed walls, and a white linen sofa with two matching chairs. There was a large, heavy clear glass desk and a leather office chair—white, of course. The only source of color in the virginal, borderline creepy office space was in an abstract oil painting that hung on the far wall. The painting was six foot by eight foot, splashes of black, brown, and greys with three large violent red slashes that cut across at a sharp diagonal. The effect was unsettling. It was one of the reasons Chic Cooper loved that particular piece of art.

Discomfort was always a handy tool to keep in the back pocket.

Chic sat behind the glass of his large desk, dragged the prominent knuckles of his right hand back and forth across his thin lips as he stared at the man and woman seated across from him. He watched them, remained silent until their unease grew. He liked to keep them uneasy, to keep them questioning his intent. It not only gave him an edge and a high, but made them easier to control.

He wondered which one of them would crack under pressure first. He would have put his money on the male. There was something about him, Tall Boy Petite, something almost feral and a little unstable. Chic had a feeling that his tendency toward self-preservation ran deep and leaned heavily toward flight no matter how tough a front he tried to put on. It was probably a major factor that had led to the loss of his former pack and cemented him to the female’s side.

She, on the other hand, was ruthless, a little bit reckless, and possessed a fearlessness that Chic could respect. Penny Peabody was the uncontested alpha of her pack. A commanding female was a rarity; one without the slightest moral compass even more so. It was part of what had brought Chic to her with his needs, why he’d relied on her with them.

Sometimes, you needed a strong woman to catch a strong woman.

“You’ve had three months,” he said to finally break the tense silence.

“I have my best tracker on it, Chic,” Penny said. 

Chic raised a singular, pale blond eyebrow, “Your best tracker?”

“Yes,” Penny was emphatic, “there’s not a being out there that Mal can’t find.”

“I hope for your sake that you’re right, Penny,” Chic seethed at her, “because three months and your best tracker hasn’t yielded shit and I don’t like to be displeased.”

He watched Penny’s slim throat work hard to swallow. It was the closest to fear he’d ever seen on the woman and it gave him a surge of satisfaction. There was something just this side of dirty about the woman; murky blue eyes, dirty blonde hair that was perpetually tangled, and tanned skin that always seemed just a little gritty from sweat. Her appearance had only ever further convinced Chic that the woman was willing to do whatever it took to get things done.

Tall Boy seemed her natural counterpart with stringy brown hair that fell even longer that hers and a scraggly, unkempt beard. His voice was gruff and his size was intimidating, being that he was a natural werewolf, it made sense that he was huge. He was the brawn, Penny was the brain. Maybe someday they’d find a third and have a soul…but Chic doubted it.

He pushed away from his desk, rose to his feet, and crossed to the front of his desk to stand before the pair. He didn’t even try to suppress his grin when Tall Boy flinched at his approach.

“Our arrangement was fairly simple, I thought, Penny,” he began and crossed his arms over his chest, “I gave your bloodthirsty pack of dogs the location to a coven, a hefty fee, and carte blanche. All I asked in return were two meager stipulations—which were?”

“Your parents’ deaths,” Penny answered.

“And?”

“Your sister delivered back to you unharmed.”

“Ding, ding, ding, ding!” Chic shrieked , leaned forward, braced his hands on the arms of her chair as he got right into Penny’s face, “and of those two _tiny_ requests, you have completed only _one_.”

“If I—”

“My sister is very dear to me, Penny. I thought you understood this. She belongs at my side. Our parents took her away from me and I want her back.”

“I unders—"

“It is one girl, Penny!” Chic interrupted, “How could one girl elude you for three months?”

“You know as well as I do that she is more than _just_ a _girl_ ,” Penny replied, fed up with his attitude, “your sister is strong and she is well trained. We are doing everything we can.”

Chic straightened, grabbed a decorative porcelain vase from his desktop, and hurled it against the far wall where it shattered to pieces and clattered noisily to the marble floor.

“Find Elizabeth, Penny!” he screamed.

Tall Boy quivered, jumped at the sound. Penny didn’t even flinch, “I’m working on it, Chic. But I can’t very well do anything if you keep calling me in here for these little tantrums, now, can I?”

Chic knew that there was a reason he liked her.

He leaned back against his desk and smiled down at the woman, “Fair enough. Fine. Go. Report back to me within a week. Sooner if you find her. Now get out.”

Penny and Tall Boy both stood and headed for the office door.

“And Penny,” Chic called to halt their exit, “don’t disappoint me again.” 

As the duo vacated his office, Chic allowed his mind to venture back to when he had last seen his sweet, little Elizabeth. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the photograph he kept safe there. It had at one time been a picture of his entire family but he had since improved it by snipping away his mother, his father, and the eldest of his sisters. All that remained was the image of himself with his arm draped around the lovely, pale, narrow shoulders of a bright eyes fifteen year-old Betty. He wondered how she looked at present.

How had she grown?

Was she even more beautiful?

He’d bet she was.

He’d never been able to forgive his parents for sending him away when he’d turned twenty-one. He grazed his thumb along the print of Betty’s smooth cheek. He’d only ever wanted to take care of his sister. Was that so wrong of him? He could still heard their voices in his head at times.

_“This—obsession—with your sister, with Betty—it’s…it’s…”_

_“It’s unnatural, Chic” his father finished for his mother._

_“It’s unnatural for someone to care about their little sister? Since when?” Chic asked._

_His mother pressed her lips together, her eyes troubled. Green eyes. Eyes like Betty’s. “Chic,” she began, “the way that you…the way you look at Betty, it…it…”_

_“It concerns us, son,” his father jumped in again._

_It seemed that Hal would be there to say the things that Alice was too uncomfortable to say herself._

_“It doesn’t seem exactly brotherly,” his father finished and even he looked uncomfortable with the words._

_It was that moment that Chic knew that he wouldn’t win the fight. They had made up their minds. He didn’t know what decision they had come to, but they were set on it._

_His mother spoke again, “We think maybe it would be best for you to join a different coven. We’ve spoke to representatives from Centerville and they seemed,” she smiled, wide and fake, the quintessential Cooper smile, “well, they’d just be thrilled to have you.”_

_Chic sneered at that, “Do you really think I’ll let you take her away from me?”_

_“Son—“ Hal began._

_Chic cut him off, “No! Do you think it is even in the real of possibilities that I will let that happen?”_

_“We think that you don’t have a choice in the matter,” his father said, his tone finite._

_Alice had started crying by that point._

_It occurred to him that there were only two ways for the situation to play out; he could stay and fight and his parents, in some misguided quest to protect her, would poison Betty against him. And the second, similarly, if he did as they wished, gave in, and left the coven, knowing his parents as he did, they would tell her nothing, again as an attempt to shield her from something that they believed had the potential to cause her harm. Her good opinion of him would stay intact from afar. His memory would be favorable and loving long enough for him to plan and implement their reunion._

So, he had left; made a strategic retreat if you will.

But he had not spent his time idly. No. And he hadn’t joined the Centerville coven. Rather, he had set about in search of likeminded individuals and begun the work to amass his fortune, both in a monetary sense as well as in the form of information and favors. He wasn’t afraid to go digging for secrets. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. 

But deep down, he knew, to the very core of his being, that all of his efforts would be rewarded by the return of his Betty to his side. He pressed a kiss to the picture and imagined how perfect the world would be when the two of them ruled it together.

Her vision was going black around the edges as her body prepared to shut down to recharge. Betty had exerted too much energy back at the house; more than she should have; more than she could afford to. She needed sleep, she needed rest.

She’d always been a graceful runner, but her movements had become jerky and clumsy with fatigue. Her toe caught a root, her ankle rolled inward, and she fell hard to her hands and knees. Hot Dog was at her side in an instant. He released the tiniest whimper and lapped at the salt sweat on her flushed face.

Betty touched his soft fur with her clammy hands. She opened her mouth to speak to him and even that seemed to require more stores of energy that she could really spare at that moment.

“We need to hide, buddy,” she managed.

Hot Dog whined again and bumped his nose against her neck. Betty wrapped her arms around the animal’s neck.

“I know, buddy, I know,” she breathed, “I’m scared, too.”

She spotted a thick leafy bush that had grown at the base of a large tree and began the agonizing crawl toward it.

Jughead’s mind was racing. She couldn’t be far; not after that impressive display. She’d be weak. She might even be unconscious somewhere. She’d be unable to defend herself again. They needed to find her before something else did.

“Alright, Serpents, listen up,” he said as his men gathered in a circle, “this is a divide and conquer situation. We need to cover as much ground as possible to find Betty. This is important, do _not hurt her_. She will be in no condition to resist or pose any kind of threat.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kurtz snorted.

Jughead locked in on the rogue member of his team, “You will not harm this girl in any way, Kurtz.”

“You mean witch.”

“That’s an order.”

The twisted smile that slid across Kurtz’s lips could have curdled milk, “Okay, what about the dog?”

Jughead felt his eyes narrow, “What about the dog?”

“Well,” Kurtz said, “we can’t hurt the witch. Can we hurt the dog?”

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” Sweet Pea burst.

A cold kind of resolve settled into Jughead’s stomach like a weighty stone. His brain worked at the speed of light as he quickly recalculated his previous strategy to solve a problem that he had neglected for far too long. He ignored the question and gave the crew their orders.

“Sweets, head west. Fangs, you take east. Joaquin, north. Kurtz, you go south. I’ll head southeast, adjacent to the house toward the tree line.”

“Wait,” Sweet Pea said, “we’re breaking off individually?”

Jughead saw that Sweet Pea’s focus was on Kurtz. He didn’t trust the son of a bitch alone and Jughead couldn’t really blame him for that instinct. “We need to cover ground,” was all he said.

“But—”

“No more questions. We don’t have the manpower or time to buddy up and hand hold. Get your asses in gear and start searching. We rendezvous back here at the bikes in five hours. Heard?”

“Heard,” came the unanimous if reluctant reply and they split in their separate directions. 

Betty’s head pounded as she struggled to blink open her heavy eyelids. She knew that she had passed out but she wasn’t certain exactly how long she’d been unconscious. It was night; and very dark, almost pitch. She was curled into the fetal position, hidden within the small space between the trunk of a massive oak tree and a thick leafy bush that she was unable to identify. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, her eyesight began to adjust to the darkness. Tucked behind her knees with his head draped across her thighs was sweet Hot Dog. Betty took just a moment, even exhausted as she was, to appreciate her chosen companion.

That was until the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs drew her attention. Hot Dog’s head lifted as well, turned toward the direction that the sound had originated from. He started to let out a low, menacing growl until Betty twisted her fingers into the fur at the scruff of his neck. Then, he quieted.

And thank God for that because not two minutes later, Kurtz emerged through the foliage.

Betty channeled her still limited energy into maintaining steady, silent breathing. She needed to remain as still as she possibly could and do nothing to draw his attention. He continued to draw nearer and nearer, though he didn’t seem to be particularly observant and Betty began to let herself believe that he would simply pass right by her.

When he was less than fifteen feet away, Betty noticed the second figure. Unlike Kurtz, he moved silently across the woodland floor; his knees were bent, his footsteps were light and fast as though they barely touched the ground as he moved.

Jughead.

Betty wondered for the briefest of moments why one man would strive to remain quiet whilst the other didn’t seem to care.

Her answer came within a split-second.

His movements were so fast, they were almost hard for Betty to follow. He was graceful and predatory and _silent._ So fucking silent.

Kurtz didn’t even know that Jughead was behind him until it was too late.

Jughead wrapped a large hand around Kurtz’s forehead and yanked him back until the back of Kurtz’s head rested against his own shoulder. Then, he thrust a knife that he seemed to have produced from thin air into the side of Kurtz’s neck. Betty slapped both palms over her mouth to hold in the scream that desperately wanted to burst forth. In one succinct motion, Jughead pushed the blade forward and just like that, like the snap of a finger, the inside of Kurtz’s throat was on the outside.

Tears welled in Betty’s eyes. She didn’t like the man but dear heavens!

Blood spurted in an unrealistically high arc through the night air, splattered the leaves of the very bush that Betty hid in. Thick chunks of gooey red matter cascaded from Kurtz’s fileted neck to pool on the ground as the shell of the man crumpled to a heap at Jughead’s feet.

Jughead looked down to watch as the body fell, then his gaze shot up and he made direct eye contact with Betty…like he’d known that she was there all along.

_Fuck this!_

She burst from her hiding spot with Hot Dog on her heels. She was in not state to outrun him, but she had to at least try. No one would ever be able to say that Betty Cooper went down without a fight.

As though he had anticipated her flight trajectory, Jughead was there to stop her escape attempt immediately. One arm banded around her waist and jerked her back against the solid wall of his chest and the other hand cuffed across her mouth to keep her from crying out. The knife had apparently vanished back into whatever magical pocket he’d drawn it from.

His hand was sticky and wet against her face; the coppery smell let her know that the warm liquid that coated his fingers, and therefore her face, was blood. Freaked out, Betty clawed at his leather clad forearm and kicked her legs as Jughead lifted her off of her feet. Hot Dog nipped at the material of his jeans, snarled up at him as Betty struggled against his hold.

“Heal,” he hissed at the dog and then rasped to Betty, “Shhh! Be still!”

He seemed to be listening for something. Whatever it was, it caught Hot Dog’s attention, too, as the pup ceased his attack on Jughead and turned his attention to the distance. Jughead dragged Betty back into the brush with him as Hot Dog darted off to his own hidey hole.

Jughead slammed them back against the tree trunk with Betty wedged between his spread legs, his used his thighs to bracket her hips and keep her lower body still, his arm stayed wrapped around her torso, and he kept his hand clamped over her mouth.

“Dammit, Betty, be quiet,” he whispered against her cheek.

When Betty spotted two more dark shapes as they advanced in the night, she obeyed his order.

Sweet Pea and Fangs stumbled across Kurtz’s rapidly cooling body.

“Oh, shit,” Sweet Pea sighed upon the discovery.

Fangs seemed to agree with the sentiment, “Well, fuck.”

“This was Jug,” Sweet Pea stated, “what was the first thing he taught us?”

Fangs stared down at the body, “Don’t kill unless you have to but if you _have_ to, make it quick, efficient, and above all, quiet. Can’t scream—”

“If you rip out their jugular.” Sweet Pea finished the heartwarming sentence with him, then continued on even as his eyes scanned their environment, “What I want to know is why.”

Fangs’ expression turned quizzical as he looked to his friend, “You say that like we weren’t tracking Kurtz in order to do the exact same thing.”

“No,” Sweet Pea clarified, “I get why he offed Kurtz. Why do it in secret? Not a damn one of us would have argued with this decision. So, why the deception?”

It was Fangs’ turn to search around the wooded area, “Better question, where’s Jug at now?”

“Do you one even better,” Sweet Pea countered, “where’s the witch?”

Fangs’ head fell back, his face titled toward the treetops, “Crickets on crutches.”

Sweet Pea shook his head as a disappointed parent might do, “Damn you _and_ your bleeding heart, Jonesy.”

Betty squirmed in discomfort and Jughead tightened his grip. She stilled against him once more. She hadn’t been trying to get away in that moment because honestly, if he didn’t want to draw the attention of two additional Serpents, she sure as hell wasn’t going to argue.

“So,” Fangs asked, “what do we do now?”

Sweet Pea thought on it for a long moment, one arms crossed over his chest to grip his opposite bicep while the other hand scratched lazily at his chin. It was a habit of his that appeared when he was pondering a particularly troubling problem. “We go back to the bikes to rendezvous. Maybe, please, fuck, Jug will be there.”

Fangs nodded and the two headed back in the direction that they’d come from. Betty allowed Jughead to keep his grasp on her for a lingering moment, allotted what she hoped was enough time for Fangs and Sweet Pea to put a decent amount of distance between their locations.

Then, she jabbed her elbow back hard into Jughead’s ribs.

He released her with a grunt and Betty scrambled away from him. Her legs got tangled in the bush, though, and sent her sprawling forward when she landed in the slippery puddle of Kurtz’s blood. Jughead recovered quickly and flung himself on top of her to restrain her once more.

“Goddammit, Betty,” he growled, “would you _stop_ trying to run away?”

“Let me go. Let me go,” Betty sobbed into the blood soaked ground, “Please just let me go.”

“I can’t,” Jughead said, his voice sounded truly pained and he pressed his forehead into the space between her shoulder blades, “I can’t let you go, Betty. You won’t make it on your own.” 

Betty sniffed at that, “What?”

Jughead eased himself off of her, helped her raise to her knees, but kept hold of her should she decide to make another break for it. He turned her to face him, brushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face, “You’re weak. That exhibition back there, badass though it was, sapped you. You can barely keep your head up. I only want to help you.”

Betty narrowed her eyes and studied him. His words sounded truthful. “Why did you kill your own man?”

“Kurtz was a rabid dog,” Jughead spat, “and you know why.”

Betty nodded at that, considered it, then said, “Okay. Why did you hide from your other men, the ones you do trust?”

Jughead thought before he answered her on that question, “It is the nature of men to fear what they do not understand. My guys, they’re _good_ guys, but they don’t understand you.”

Something tightened in Betty’s chest at those words, but she reined it in, “Are you saying that you do understand me?”

“Better than they do.” Jug grinned, and it was sweet and boyish and she inexplicably wanted to touch his hair.

Then, of course, more rustling.

“God, what now?” Betty almost cried even as Jughead was pulling her back into the cover of the bush.

This time, however, the rustling was accompanied by a wet, rattling kind of shriek.

Betty had never seen a Night-Dweller up close before. She’d always been tucked away safe within the bosom of her coven and even after—everything—she’d always taken shelter before nightfall. She’d heard descriptions of course, read about them in textbooks, seen artistic renderings, but not a one of those things could have prepared her for what she saw that night with her own eyes.

The creature was pale and thin, naked and hairless. Its movements were almost lizard-like, reptilian, as it slinked across the ground on its hands and feet. There was something very disturbing about seeing something with a body shaped so like that of a human slither in such a way.

The Night-Dweller seemed to catch scent of Kurtz and darted forward at impossible speed; its body zig-zagged as it went. Betty grabbed hold of Jughead’s thigh and pressed deeper into the security of his body.

Jughead glanced down at Kurtz’s already congealing blood on his hands and swiftly applied the sticky fluid to the pulse points on Betty’s neck and wrists as well as his own.

It was smart.

The blood wouldn’t completely mask their scent but it would blend it enough with that of Kurtz so as to fool the creature to not abandon a fresh kill to go in search of living prey. 

When the Night-Dweller reached Kurtz’s body, it gave an experimental sniff, then crawled up on top of the fallen Serpent.

It lapped at the blood on Kurtz’s throat, slurped at it. Then, Betty and Jughead watched in silent unwitting fascination as it opened its jaws and latched onto the dead man’s neck. It began shaking its head back and forth at rapid speed, sawing into the lifeless flesh.

Betty let out a gasp that she couldn’t hold in and once again, Jughead covered her mouth with his hand, albeit more gently this time around and his other hand wrapped around her waist to pulled her tighter against him. The monster was too distracted by its meal and probably the sound of crunching bone to notice Betty’s minor slip.

The creature continued to masticate on the body and Betty had to choke down the mouthful of bile that rose from her stomach when its efforts severed the spinal cord and Kurtz’s head detached and rolled away. She squeezed her eyes closed. No one should have to bear witness to such a thing. She hadn’t like Kurtz at all; he had been a greasy, disgusting, pig of a rapist—but he was being dismembered and devoured and she and Jughead were trapped as the unwilling audience to the macabre feast. Jughead used the hand on her mouth to turn her face to the side, forced her to look away. She didn’t resist; rather she tucked her forehead under his chin and prayed for it to all be over.

And just in case the situation wasn’t horrifying enough as it was, a deep rolling snarl suddenly echoed throughout the wood. Against her better judgement, Betty opened her eyes to see how everything had just proceeded to get worse.

Jughead squeezed his arm around Betty even more when the wolf appeared from the shadows. It was obviously a were—it stood easily six foot on all fours, its fur a mixture of muddy brown and midnight black. With its hackles raised, it neared the Night-Dweller, who looked up and hissed at the wolf’s approach, ready to defend its meal.

Betty tensed in his arms and without thinking about the what or why of it, he rubbed his thumb back and forth along her ribs in attempt to soothe her. He did this even as the two deadly animals faced off against each other.

If any beings could be considered ‘evenly matched’ it would be the wolf and the Dweller. Each had their strengths, but each had the vulnerabilities as well.

Example: the werewolf easily had the Dweller beaten when it came to muscle and sheer size, but Night-Dwellers were almost impossible to kill.

The two circled each other, one growled while the other hissed and shrieked and gurgled. The cold war of a dance went on for what felt like hours to Jughead, though in all honesty it was probably no more than a few minutes. Then, the Night-Dweller seemed to decide that it wasn’t in the mood to fight and disappeared into the night as suddenly as it had appeared.

Jughead still couldn’t let himself relax. Another difference, Dweller’s hearing was out of this world, but it didn’t even hold a candle to a wolf’s sense of smell. Jughead wasn’t sure the blood trick would do for the wolf. On the bright side, he stood a better chance of surviving, maybe even winning against a wolf should it come to a fight.

At the very least he could distract the beast long enough for Betty to get away.

The brown/black behemoth circled around the bloody lump of a body, sniffed a few times, nudged at the decapitated head with its snout, then sniffed some more. It started to inch closer in their direction and Jughead was just about to draw his knife when the animal’s head whipped up in an arc and it took off full bore in the direction that Sweet Pea and Fangs had gone.

Just as Jughead let his shoulders relax, another beast crashed through their bush to get to them.

Hot Dog pawed and nuzzled and clambered over his legs in his desperation to get to Betty. Jughead grinned and patted him on his fluffy head. He let the two have their reunion as he eased his way from their cover. He checked in all directions to make sure that the coast was clear and free of anymore unwanted visitors. When he was satisfied that they were well and truly finally alone, he offered his hand to help Betty from the secluded spot to her feet.

“Okay, we need to start putting space between us and—” he paused, struggled to think of a singular word to encompass what they had just been through together, so he settled on, “this.”

Betty nodded, her eyes shiny even in the pitch of night, “okay.”

“Which coven are you going to?”

He felt more than saw her body tense at the question, so he rushed to say, “You don’t have to tell me the location. In fact, I don’t _want_ you to tell me the location. I just need to know which one it is.” 

Betty still hesitated to answer and he really didn’t blame her. She was a smart girl. She didn’t give her trust easily, nor should she. Not in this world.

Finally, she said, “Greendale.”

Of course and—

“Fuck!”

“Excuse me,” Betty relied and even Hot Dog’s ears perked up at the expletive.

“Of course, it would be Greendale.”

“Problem with Greendale?”

Jughead looked at her. She stared back at him, one defiant eyebrow arched up her smooth forehead. He had to take a breath to regather his thoughts, she was so fucking gorgeous in that moment.

“Uh,” he stammered, “let’s just say we have a history.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. There's that for now. So! What did you think? Did I over do it with Kurtz? I mean, I think he earned his demise... and how are we feeling about Jughead?
> 
> Are you upset with me for making Juggie so violent? I feel like the world lends itself to this, but that is my opinion. I want to hear yours! Please please please let me know what you think!!! Leave a comment or a kudos!! I devour the feedback!!!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Survive the night... and the day, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first, HOLY COW, YA'LL!!! I was nominated for a Bughead award! I'm flabbergasted and shocked and elated! There are so many great stories in this fandom that I am so thankful to anyone who nominated me! Thank you!!! 
> 
> I was nominate for this story and for my story "Shelter From the Storm" which if you haven't read, go check it out and leave a comment. It is actually COMPLETED. LOL
> 
> But, seriously, thank you. 
> 
> Now, down to business: sorry it has taken me so long to update. This story is a beast and I want to do it justice. I hope you won't be disappointed! I don't have a beta. All mistakes are mine. I am very human. 
> 
> WARNING : There is violence in this chapter. 
> 
> Chapter Four Song Choice : "Here it Comes" by Phlotilla
> 
> Don't forget to comment what you think. I live for the feedback!!!

Chapter Four:

Sweet Pea and Fangs reached the barn where Joaquin already awaited them. He leaned against his bike, arms and ankles crossed, quizzical expression already on his face. “Well, you two look like you’ve swallowed something vile,” he observed.

“We found Kurtz,” Fangs stated, “His throat was ripped out.”

“Jug did it.” Sweet Pea continued.

“Color me surprised,” Joaquin deadpanned.

“Oh, we’re not done,” Sweet Pea went on.

Joaquin looked around, “Wait. Where is—”

“Exactly.” Sweet Pea cut him off.

“And what about—”

“That’s right.” Fangs nodded.

Joaquin let that sink in, the tossed his head back to release on burst of humorless laughter. “Jug’s run off with the witch and left a Serpent murdered in the woods. Okay,” he nodded his head, processed the facts, “okay. How are we gonna cover this shit up?”

Thus sparked a lively debate which weighed the pros and cons of a) waiting around for God knew how long for their leader to return, miss the check-in at Riverdale, and cause panic/chaos/uproar or b) going on _without_ Jughead to make their prearranged check-in and provide some kind if adequate if somewhat farfetched reasoning as to why he wasn’t with them. They could probably work some kind of angle similar enough to the truth. A damsel in distress trying to reunite with her family or some shit like that and he sent them on ahead while he and Kurtz delivered her to her destination. Jug was just chivalrous enough that the powers that be would probably not only believe it, but eat it up like goddam sugar coated candy. 

Then of course, once the council had been placated, they’d hightail it out of the village as soon as humanly possible to search him out. They would _not_ under any circumstances abandon their commander.

Hell to the no.

They were in the middle of pushing Jug's and the now late Kurtz’s bike to the far back corner of the dilapidated barn to conceal them with an old canvas tarp they had managed to scrounge up when they heard the snarls.

Fangs was the closest to the barn door, so he eased, light footed, away from the other two Serpents, who had frozen in place, to crack a quick peak. The black and brown wolf stood as tall as Sweet Pea. It circled the porch of the house, snuffling along, its snout to the ground. It searched for its prey, searched for them.

With a few quick hand signals, Fangs let Sweet Pea and Joaquin know that there was a were on the premises.

Once again, they were met with two distinct options: a) remain in the barn until it wandered away and head for Riverdale, or b) attack.

Sweet Pea locked his gaze on Joaquin’s eyes, then moved to meet Fangs’. Then, he reached down and drew a large combat knife from the ankle scabbard tucked within the confines of his boot.

Serpents had never really been good at hiding.

The thought was persistent and loud and drove every other thought from her brain no matter how badly she willed it not to be so. It made no difference how many times she told herself that there were so many more important things that she needed to be focused on – such as the unspeakable dangers that lurked in the dark, the fact that wolves so rarely traveled alone which meant that the one they had encountered was either insane or on a mission (both notions were equally horrifying in their own rite,) and not to mention, she had entrusted her safety, her very life, to a complete stranger whose soul purpose of existence was to track down and destroy beings such as herself. Even as she told herself that those things were what she needed to be centering herself on, over and over and over in her mind, she kept coming back to how large and warm and comforting Jughead’s hand was as it engulfed her own.

She hadn’t been able to get her bearings, unused to traveling in the dark as she was. But Jughead moved with confidence and haste as though he had been born with night-vision. His footsteps were light and silent and, unlike her, he never stumbled.

The toe of her boot seemed to catch on every rock and protruding root that she came across. She knew a major contributor to her seeming clumsiness was that she had not yet recovered from the energy drain of earlier, which meant she had to rely heavily on Jughead.

And that thought had begun to bother her less and less.

Which should have alarmed her.

And yet it didn’t.

Somehow, despite the precariousness of her situation, her instincts told her that she was safe with him.

She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to sit down and rest and ask him about his history with the Greendale coven.

She felt Hot Dog’s calming presence at her side. Like Jughead, he made very little noise as he moved, his only sound was the light, quick panting of his breaths. The sweet creature who had become so dear to her kept pace with them easily; more easily than she herself was capable at the moment if she were being honest.

That knowledge made her feel weak and inadequate, like she was somehow lacking. That bothered her. She had always considered herself strong and it was important to her on an almost irrational level that Jughead see her that way as well. She really wanted him to recognize the strength within her.

But dammit, she wasn’t weak!

She had tossed five grown men around a room with her damn brain. She was tired!

“Jughead,” she said and tried to stop only to have him tug her forward another few steps before she dug her heels in and forced him to stop as well, “Jughead!”

He turned on her like a viper, hissed out a quiet but urgent, “Shh!”

“Sorry,” she breathed, “I need to rest for a bit.”

She watched him lick his lips, tighten his jaw, and then scan their surroundings in the dim moonlight. He did not seem happy with whatever it was that he saw out there.

“There’s nowhere safe to bunk down here. C’mon,” he tugged on her arm, “we need to keep moving.”

“Okay, you’re not listening to me,” she said and refused to budge from where she stood, “whatever adrenaline was in my body is gone now. I never recovered from using my power earlier. I don’t _want_ to rest. I don’t even _need_ to rest. I _have_ to rest. My systems are going to shut down soon and I will lose consciousness.” 

Jughead tried not to focus on the feeling of Betty’s small fingers wrapped around his hand and the desperate look in her eyes. He needed to be focused on his surrounding, the ground before him, the direction that he needed to lead her. The night was so dark and the slightest divergence in their path could set them off in the wrong direction. Not to mention the Night-Dwellers were out and there was one, potentially more, werewolf on their path.

And now she was telling him that she was going to shut down soon. She couldn’t weigh more than a buck twenty at most, but hauling a buck twenty of dead weight through the woods in the middle of the night would basically make them prime targets; easy prey.

He needed to find somewhere safe for her to recharge. He had no idea where that could be.

What he did know was that he had the company of a lovely blonde girl that he was pretty sure he was already willing to die to protect…and her hands were ridiculously soft. Even as Jughead contemplated their immediate surroundings for _anywhere_ that they might take a break, Betty tilted forward, her body sagged against his own, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Jughead saw her eyelids flutter closed and noted that it seemed to take her tremendous effort to reopen them. She blinked those big eyes up at him, slowly, languidly, tiredly.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, her breath warm against the chilled skin of his throat, “I don’t know how much farther I can go.”

Hot Dog let out a low whine and nudged his nose against Betty’s thigh in concern. As if the animal had unknowingly hit a button, her knees buckled and she had to reach out and grasp Jughead’s shoulder to keep herself upright. Jughead dropped his hold on her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, offered her his support, his strength. Hot Dog whined again.

“I head you, buddy,” Jughead said to the anxious pup. It was all at once that Betty’s reserves seemed to fail her, drained out of her at an alarming swiftness. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulder as she clung to him in a painful desperation.

“Goddammit,” Jughead hissed, tightened his hold on her waist, and scooped her up with other arm behind her knees.

He didn’t have a free hand with which to defend them should the need arise, which was likely. He felt exposed and vulnerable, which were not feelings that he was accustomed to nor did he particularly care for them.

“Alright,” he said to Hot Dog, “we need to find somewhere at least a little safe that we can bed down for the night, pal.”

Lightening had cracked the night sky as Fangs had pushed open the barn door. The storm had come from out of nowhere. The sky had been clear, the moon had been shining. It had offered them a modicum of vision in the midst of the darkness. But as the clouds had rolled in, they’d blotted out that pale source of light and pitched the Serpent crew into black.

It was not the ideal situation to face down a werewolf, whose night-vision was second only to the Night-Dwellers themselves. A breeze kicked up which could serve to offer a slight advantage if they could stay downwind of the creature. It could mask their scent.

Last they had seen the wolf, it had been making its way around the corner of the house.

Wordlessly, they split. Joaquin travelled with the wind, his intention to serve as bait and draw the beast to him. As a counter, Fangs and Sweet Pea moved against the wind; their goal to come up behind the werewolf and take it down.

The fur on a werewolf’s back, head, and legs was course, thick, and damn near impenetrable. They were vulnerable at their throat and belly where the fur was softer and left them exposed. The challenge was in getting to those soft areas without having your own throat ripped out.

It was situations such as this that served as the reason Serpents began training at the age of three. Their plan was not born necessarily of thinking through the consequences or the what ifs. It was instinct. They instantly calculated odds and moved in for the attack based on muscle memory and intuition. It was ingrained in them.

They were Serpents.

They did not fail.

Thunder grumbled low and ominous through the sky as it opened up to spill a torrential wave of rain down upon them. The ground beneath turned soggy, slick, and muddy. While the pouring rain would assist in covering any sound of their approach, it also weighed down on them, slowed their movement. 

Sweet Pea struggled to get the pounding of his heart to slow. Jughead always told him that such heightened physical reactions were a completely natural byproduct from the knowledge of impending danger/action. They always frustrated Sweet Pea regardless of his commander’s reassurances. He hated those so-called “natural” reactions. They made him feel all too human. He blinked against raindrops that pelted down into his eyes and stung against the flesh of his face.

To his left and just a step ahead, Fangs moved with confident caution, crouched loan, eyes alert but just a little wild. Amongst the three of them, Sweet Pea had the most wolf kills under his belt – but he’d always had Jughead by his side. Fangs had only ever been on the kill side of maneuvers once to Sweet’s recollection. This felt wrong somehow. Everything in Sweet Pea’s gut was telling him that something was just _off_ about this whole situation – from the witch, to Kurtz, and right down to the lone wolf. It didn’t bode well for anything that he could think of.

He was about to launch a standard “bait-n-switch” attack on a werewolf, but his commander wasn’t with him. It was always him and Jug that served to take down the wolf while Fangs and Joaquin serves as the distraction/bait. Jughead had some spooky accurate intuition as to exactly how, where, and when to attack; he always put himself into the most dangerous position over one of his men being there. It was just one of the many reasons that Sweep Pea would follow his leader into the depths of hell if it were asked of him.

And that was how he knew that he needed to be that for Fangs and Joaquin in that moment. He was second in command. Their safety came before his own. Always. With that certainty at the forefront of his mind, he eased ahead of Fangs to round the corner first.

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Fangs. He could practically see the adrenaline pulsing through the slightly younger Serpent’s veins. He wasn’t accustomed to being on this side of the fence. As counterintuitive as it seemed, being the bait was safer. All you really had to do was serve to distract the target and _not get caught_. When your job was the attack, you had to do just that – which meant you had to get up close and personal with a creature whose venom and claws had dire consequences.

Sweet Pea took a deep breath and attempted yet again to steady himself. The rain was a double-edged sword. The constant noise did mask the sound of their movements; but it did the same for the wolf. But he couldn’t – wouldn’t – hesitate any longer. Joaquin was out there alone.

Blade raised high, he rushed the corner to come face to face with…

The barrel of Joaquin’s gun.

Training and muscle memory drove Sweet Pea to knock the weapon away to the side, just as his brain told him that it was the same exact thing that had Joaquin abandoning the lost gun and pulling his own knife to hold to Sweet Pea’s throat. Breaths coming in hard pants, they stared into one another’s eyes for a long beat, then both burst into nervous laughter as they dropped their arms to their sides.

“Dude,” Sweet Pea rasped, “what the hell?”

Joaquin continued to laugh uncomfortably as he fell back against the side of the house, “Man, I thought you were a fuckin’ wolf.”

“Likewise,” Fangs replied as he closed in on the two and tucked his weapon away.

“Where the hell did it go?” Sweets demanded as he scanned their darkened, rain blurred surroundings.

The three serpents searched for the beast but couldn’t any trace of the damned thing. And it wasn’t like a six foot dog could vanish into thin air. It was around. Somewhere.

And that knowledge set Sweet Pea’s teeth on edge.

“Let’s get back to the barn,” he snapped out in command, “We leave at first light. If Jug is back, awesome. If not, we’ll make his excuses to council and double back after check in.”

Joaquin and Fangs nodded, accepted his leadership as easily as they would accept Jughead’s. They headed for the shelter of the old barn while Sweet Pea lagged behind, scanned the tree-line. He could feel eyes watching him and knew deep down in his bones that this wasn’t the last time they’d encounter this particular wolf.

When Betty awoke, she found herself in what may have been the most uncomfortable position she’d ever had the misfortune to be in. She was curled in on herself in what might have been considered the fetal position, but her head was pushed forward and down at an unnaturally sharp angle which had caused a severe crick. There was a warm, heavy weight on her hip, which she discovered was Hot Dog. The animal was curled in a ball betwixt her thighs and abdomen. She scratched the drowsy pup behind the ear and then eased her sore and aching body into a sitting position. She took in the rounded space she was in; the walls of which were rough and grooved like – tree bark? She glanced up to the only source of dim lighting to an imperfectly circular opening just above her head.

Holy hell.

Was she seriously in a hollowed out tree like some twisted version of a woodland fairytale?

She shoved herself to her feet. Hot Dog rose as well to stand between her knees; the only place within the confines of their small shelter that he had room to stand really. Betty leaned forward to look outside through the opening.

Yup.

She was in a tree.

She dragged the back of a knuckle along her sleep-crusted eyelid and wedged the upper half of her body out through the hole. About fifteen feet away, the remnants of a fire smoldered within a ring of rocks. Her bag lay in a crumpled heap beside it. She didn’t remember grabbing when she’d made her break from the house in the middle of the night, but then she also didn’t remember ever taking it from her shoulder. It was daylight, but it was overcast and gloomy gray and everything was damp and saturated and hazy as though a storm had passed only recently. Betty began to lean further to peer to the side when, in keeping with the whole fairytale metaphor, a hand bearing a glossy red apple appeared before her face.

She snatched the fruit from Jughead’s outstretched hand as he braced a shoulder against the side of the tree trunk to the right of her little portal. He took a crunchy bite of his own apple and smirked at her.

Betty glared back at him, “You stuffed me in a tree.”

Jughead smiled around a mouthful of apple and tapped the bark with affection, “A Witch Elm. Seemed appropriate.”

“Humor,” Betty sneered, “har.”

“Just my way of relating to this messed up existential crisis we consider our world.”

“Ah, well,” Betty tucked the apple into the pocket of her jacket, “could you existentially help me out of this tree?”

“Sure,” he replied, chomped down on the final bite of his breakfast, tossed the malformed core over his shoulder, and wiped his sticky hands on the thighs of his jeans before he reached for her. He hooked those large, capable hands underneath her armpits and lifted her through the small opening of the tree trunk as though she weighed no more that a kitten. Her feet touched the ground and, still unsteady, Betty pitched forward just the slightest bit, grasped his shoulders until she could find her center. His grip on her tightened and small, unevolved part of her brain zeroed in on just how close his hands were to her breasts. When she looked up to his face, it was suddenly very difficult to swallow and she lost herself for a long moment in those bright, basilisk eyes. She could have let herself linger in that striking green stare forever – but she heard the almost frantic whining accompanied by the scratch of claws against wood from behind.

Jughead chuckled, released his hold, and stepped around her to the witch elm.

“We didn’t forget you, buddy, I promise,” he said as he hauled Hot Dog out from the confines of the tree.

Cheeks red-flushed and palms all of the sudden sweaty, Betty had to force an unsteady inhalation of oxygen into her lungs. ‘Damn,’ she chided herself, ‘get it together, Cooper. He is _dangerous_.’

Her eyes drifted over to where he was bent forward to pet Hot Dog, most specifically to the way the faded denim of his jeans lovingly cupped his ass.

‘ _Really_ dangerous.’

Betty cleared her throat since she couldn’t seem to clear her mind and dragged her gaze from Jughead’s all too appealing form.

“So,” Jughead began, “I assume Greendale knows you’re coming, right? Not really a good idea to show up at a coven unannounced.”

Betty had to grin at that. He was a charming little shit, she’d give him that. And attractive. Attractive and charming. Attractive and charming and dangerous. Dammit.

“Yes,” she answered, “they know I’m coming. I’m supposed to check in everyday at noon.”

“Via radio?”

Betty nodded.

Jughead looked up at the sky; his eyes traced along the tops of the trees and the cloud coverage. “Alright,” he said and distracted Betty by licking his lips, “we have about three and half hours to get you somewhere with a decent signal.”

“Okay,” Betty said and admired the long, lean line of his throat. She really needed to get her hormones under control. Maybe she could blame it on her somewhat sheltered upbringing in the coven – but he was just so pretty. And less of an asshole than she’d originally pegged him for. She found herself uncharacteristically aware of things she’d rarely ever paid attention to – such as her morning breath. She was in the middle of debating if she should pull a few mint leaves from her supplies to chew when a quiet rustling to her left caught her ear. When she turned her head toward the noise, she came eye to eye with a Link.

Jughead heard Betty’s sharp gasp and turned on his heel just in time to see her stumble back and topple to her butt as she tried to scramble herself away from the group of five Links that had come from out of nowhere and now shuffled toward her. Graying skin stretched taut around bruised, bagged eyes. Mouths open and snarled, crusted over with dried blood and spit and decaying teeth. Their clothes were dirty and holy and hanging limply from their wasting away corpses. That all too familiar stench of death accompanied them. And they had their sets set on Betty.

His Betty.

“Shit!” he hissed and rushed forward. Without thought, he put his own body between Betty and the Night-Dweller peon that was closest to her. He caught the disgusting, walking rot just beneath its chin and jerked; snapped its neck to sever the brain stem from the spinal cord. The creature crumpled to the ground at once without so much as a groan.

But there were four more still descending upon them.

He drew the knife from his boot; the same knife he had used to kill Kurtz.

He caught the nearest Link and brought his heel down hard on the back of its leg. When it dropped to a knee, Jughead thrust his knife into the base of the thing’s skull.

He’d just yanked his blade free when the next in line reached for him – but before it could grab him, as though an invisible string had pulled tight, it was flung backward through the air and slammed into a tree, its body bowed nearly in half.

Then Betty was by his side, her own dagger clutched in hand and a fierce expression on her face.

That shouldn’t have been nearly as arousing as it was.

Together, they made quick work of dispatching the two Links that were still on their feet.

Jughead shoved the first to the ground where Betty promptly drove her knee into the middle of its back and used her body weight to hold it down while she mimicking Jughead’s earlier move with a quick, thorough jab to the back of its neck.

While she did that, Jughead pinned the final one against a nearby tree, stabbed it through the side of the throat and pushed the blade back to disconnect the all important cord. Once it had fallen, Jug turned toward the tree that Betty had hurled his would-be attacked against with that brilliant brain of hers – only to see Hot Dog trotting in his direction as he licked the Link’s blood from his snout.

He chanced a quick look at where the ill-fated Link had landed to see that the back of its neck had been entirely ripped out.

He patted Hot Dog’s head as the animal stared up at him with a rapidly wagging tail, “Who’s a good boy?”

He straightened and made his way over to where Betty had crouched down the still smoking fire to clean the blood from her knife with a bandana. She offered the rag to him as he approached. He quickly wiped down his own blade before he tucked it back into his boot and she shoved the bandana into the back pocket of her jeans.

“You okay after that?” he asked.

She smirked up at him and he had to beat down the almost overwhelming impulse to taste those lips; sink his teeth into them; mark her in such a way that every one they met would know that she belonged to him.

‘What the fuck, Jones?’ he mentally berated.

“It takes a lot more than saving your ass from one little Link to make me pass out, Juggie.”

“Juggie?”

Betty felt her stomach leap up into her throat. The name had just slipped out without her notice or permission.

“Uh…”

He offered her his hand to help her climb to her feet, “Just don’t call me that in from Sweet Pea. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief as she slipped her hand into his and she couldn’t have stopped her answering grin if she’d wanted to, “I’ll take it into consideration.”

When she rose, they were basically pressed torso to torso, but he didn’t step away. He actually craned his neck downward, brought his face closer to her own, and she would swear his eyes were on her mouth.

“You do that,” he purred.

A startled little mewl escaped her throat. He was – a lot.

One side of his mouth quirked up and he finally did step back. “Alright, Betty, let’s get you to your coven…and put some ground between us and whoever was watching us through those assholes’ brains.”

Succinct.

She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder as Jughead kicked dirt over the remains of their campfire.

With that, they began their trek out of the woods. She had no idea where she was but once again, she noted that Jughead moved with confidence. He walked with focus, made turns with purpose, never dallied or seemed to be considering which direction needed to come next. Jughead Jones knew exactly where they were going. Hot Dog paced him. The animal wove between the two, switching back and forth as to whose side he walked at. He seemed to have taken a liking to their new guide.

‘Me, too, pal,’ Betty thought, ‘me, too.’

Their speed was quick and they took very few breaks. Jughead seemed to be a man on a mission. He didn’t slow, he didn’t waiver, and he expected her to keep up.

And when she started to get tired, he distracted her with conversation.

“So, tell me why Greendale?”

“I have family there.”

The hitch in his step was so minute that if she hadn’t been so impressed with the fluidity with which he usually moved, she probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Family, huh?” he continued, “Lotta bloodlines amongst the Greendale witches. The Kellers. The Lopezes. You don’t strike me as a Kinkle.”

“You seem to know a lot about the Greendale coven.”

“Like I said, we have history.” His tone was flat until, “Oh, God! You’re not a Spellman, are you?”

Betty chuckled at his mock horror filled expression, “I’m a Cooper.”

“Cooper, huh,” he went on, the horror leaving his face, “don’t know of any Coopers in Greendale.”

“Well, you could say my family married into the Greendale of coven,” Betty explained, “My sister is now a Blossom.”

He stopped walking, stared at her for a full three heartbeats, and then burst out laughing, “Ironic but fitting.”

Betty stopped as well, cocked her head to side in inquiry, “Why is that?”

Jughead started walking again and Betty fell back into step beside him. He shook his head but kept smiling, “The Blossoms, huh. The red headed terrors themselves.”

“I thought they were very nice when I met them at the wedding.”

“Oh, I’m sure they adored you.”

“I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

“Only a little.”

“So, are the Blossoms who you have history with?” Betty couldn’t help but ask, her vivid recollection calling to mind the statuesque red-headed Cheryl in all her demi-goddess glory. The idea of all of that creamy perfection wrapped around Jughead’s olive toned masculinity made her curl her fingers into her palms. She didn’t care for the idea one bit.

“Kind of, but not really,” Jughead explained, “we know of each other but only in a round about sort of way.”

“So, you didn’t break Cheryl’s heart or anything?”

Another loud burst of laughter, “God, no! Uh, let’s say I am the farthest thing from Cheryl Blossom’s type.”

Betty couldn’t even fathom not being attracted to Jughead.

He halted again to peer up at the sky, “I think it’s about time to call in. Let’s head up to the top of that hill over there.”

Betty pulled out her radio. 

She pushed the button, “Yesterday upon the stair.”

Static.

They walked further up the hill.

“Yesterday upon the stair.”

Crackling, staticky air. No response.

“Dammit,” Betty muttered, “Yesterday upon the stair.”

“I met a man who wasn’t there,” came the broken reply.

“Oh, thank God,” Betty exclaimed.

She was answered with Bret’s laughter, “We were beginning to think you weren’t gonna check in today!”

Betty had just pushed the button to respond when she looked over at Jughead’s wide eyes shock in time to hear his say, “Oh, fuck.”

There was a pause. Then Bret’s disembodied borderline ominous voice spoke from the vast ether of the radio airwaves.

“Wh – is that – is that you, Forsythe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe... so I'd love to hear your theories on what you think Jughead's story with Greendale is! I'm super excited to get there. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Are we rooting for Betty and Juggie? Is Juggie forgiven, yet? Has he redeemed himself if even a little in your eyes!!
> 
> Please, please, please, leave a comment! Leave a question! Leave a kudos! I value and adore each and every one! 
> 
> Kisses to all! Bye, now!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jug spend some time together...Penny gets irritated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I struggled with this chapter. I finally just trashed the whole thing and attacked it from a different angle. I hope you enjoy!!! 
> 
> Chapter Five Song Choice - "Blue Ridge Mountains" by Fleet Foxes

Chapter Five :

As if some unseen cosmic force hit a magical pause button, everything seemed to come to a crashing halt. All movement seemed to stop, time seemed to freeze. The light from the sun seemed brighter; it saturated his vision; blurred the rest of his surroundings; blinded him just a little bit. Sound seemed to amplify tenfold; birds chirped, leaves rustled in the slight wind, at Jughead’s side, Hot Dot panted. And then the light seemed to dim all at once, the sound whooshed away with a low buzz, and what he saw…was Betty. Those brilliant green eyes of Betty’s bore into his own with laser-like focus. He heard the pounding thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears, deafening even as the all too familiar voice squawked his given name across the static saturated radio waves.

“Forsythe?” Bret said, “Forsythe, is that you?”

Jughead pushed all of the air from his lungs before he reached over and snagged the radio from Betty’s white-knuckled grasp. Without breaking the almost uncomfortable eye contact, we pressed his thumb to the button, “Yeah, it’s me, Wallis. And don’t call me that. You know I hate that shit.”

“Right!” Bret said, “Right! Sorry, Jones. I just—we haven’t heard from you in a while. A year? Something like that, right?”

“Forsythe?” Betty mouthed.

Jughead was unprepared for the reaction of his body to the sound of his birth name when it came from her lips. Something about the formation of the ‘th’ at the end, the little puff of air that pushed from her mouth as she touched the tip of her tongue to her teeth. Should that be as sexual as his brain had decided to interpret it? He felt the stirrings of arousal low in his body.

He cursed the sudden inappropriate urge and trounced in back down with a brutal force of willpower, then held up a finger to ask for her silence.

“Yeah, about that,” he replied into the radio in answer to Bret’s question about the length of time since they’d spoken.

“It’s good to hear from you,” Bret responded.

Jughead zeroed in on the raise in the tonal quality of the other man’s voice. It went up. Noticeably. Like 3 octaves noticeable. It was the “eager to please” tone that he had unfortunately heard from him a few too many times and always made him uncomfortable. Any arousal that Betty had inadvertently provoke evaporated, twisted in his gut and morphed into nausea. He was bombarded with memories of the man’s eagerness for his attention. Grasping handshakes, should slaps, lingering stares, and one uncomfortable long hug. Jughead had mistaken the overtures for hero-worship and friendship at first.

He’d been quickly disillusioned of that notion.

“So….you’re with—Betty, now?” Bret asked. Again, the disappointment in his tone was noticeable.

“Yup.”

“For-forgive me for asking F—Jones, but how did that happen?”

“Betty happened across my crew. Unfortunately, she blew her cover rather quickly.”

He sensed the immediate tensing of Betty’s body, “Blew my cover?” she seethed, “You mean when one of _your_ men tried to rap—”

Jughead dropped the radio from his mouth and fixed her with a stern look. Betty’s mouth snapped closed, but her eyes narrowed in a glare. She crossed her arms over her chest and angled her body away from him in a huff. Let him sugarcoat it. Asshole.

“So, once my guys knew what she was, I knew I had to get her away from them. She told me the coven she was headed for was, well, you.”

“So, the rest of the Serpents are not with you?” 

“Of course not.” Jughead snarled.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Bret said, “You know I have to ask. Jones, you know, as long as you’re with Betty, I can’t give her our coordinates.” There was pregnant pause before he finished the sentence in the way Jughead had known he was going to, his voice a little breathless, “No matter how much I want to.”

“Yeah, I know that, Bret.” Jughead replied, “But I have a work around to that. A nice, neutral rendezvous.”

“Where?” Bret asked with haste, the eagerness returned to his tone.

“I’ll work it out and let you know.”

“But—”

“Just like you can’t divulge your coven’s secrets, I can’t give away my contact’s secrets. Not my information to share and I won’t violate that trust. You know that about me.”

“You’re right. You’re right.” Bret acknowledged, “When will I hear from you again? Tomorrow?”

“Nah,” Jug said, catching Betty’s eye as she seemed to be unable to pretend to tune out the conversation any longer, “wastes too much time looking for signal to check in every single day. We should be able to reach my acquaintances by the day after tomorrow if we hustle. We’ll reach back out then.”

“Okay,” Bret said, “It was good to hear from you F—Jones. I look forward to seeing you.”

“Right. Talk to you in two days.” Jughead said by way of goodbye and turned the radio off.

He offered the now silent radio back to Betty. She arched an inquisitive brow as she took it from him and tucked it back into her bag. “Old boyfriend?” she asked.

Jughead winced, “If only it were that simple.”

“He sounded—excited—at the prospect of seeing you again.”

“Yeah, well, Bret’s easily excitable.”

“By you?”

“Okay,” Jughead glared but definitely took note of the smart ass grin that was on her full, pretty lips, “let’s get moving, Betty.”

He started to continue his way up the hill and Hot Dog trotted along beside him. Just a step behind was Betty, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, both the one that had just happened and the one he was about to willingly walk into, he couldn’t help but smile as her musical laughter rang out across the clearing.

The delicate crystalline bauble shattered upon impact with the wall. To her credit, Penny didn’t even flinch, despite the close proximity of the passing of the object to her skull. She’d grown far too accustomed to Chic’s childish temper tantrums.

“What do you mean you’ve _lost_ her?” Chic seethed, “How could you lose her? Again!?!”

Penny squared her shoulders and pushed the air from her lungs. She was tired. She had reached a point where she couldn’t tell if it was legitimate exhaustion or if she was just in a constant state of tense exasperation with her so-called “employer.” Either way, her state of physical duress had everything to do with wiry, eccentric man standing in front of her. Tallboy was afraid of him, but Tallboy was as dumb as a box of rocks. Chic’s obvious intellect unnerved him. Intelligence didn’t frighten Penny. She was intelligent as well as cunning. The only thing that Chic had over her was finances and his powers. The finances she wanted for her pack, and until she could figure out how to utilize his abilities for herself, she would remain wary of them. Wary; not afraid. Adopting a poise of relaxation that she didn’t truly feel, she stepped deeper into the office and sank down into one of the plush white chairs in front of his desk.

“I explained that already, Chic,” she said, her tone that of an overwrought school marm, “everything got muddled together; her smell, their smell, the blood’s smell…anyone could have gotten confused.”

“ _Their_ smell?”

Penny nodded, braced herself, “Mal thinks that she’s taken up with a group of Serpents.”

“Serpents!” Chic kicked a metal wastebin and sent it careening across the room, then paced behind his desk like a caged gorilla, “Incompetent!”

Penny gestured with a lazy hand behind her, “You’re gonna damage your pretty walls if you keep doing things like that.”

Chic ceased his pacing and glanced at her from the side of his eye, “I don’t care for your tone.”

“And I don’t care for having objects hurled at my head every time I bring you an update,” she snapped back.

“Then maybe you should work on getting me some better information!”

Penny popped her jaw, cracked her neck sideways, and resettled her gaze on the pale, blond benefactor for her pack. She wanted to snap him in two. Imagined it for just a moment. What it would be like. She could do it so easily. All she had to do was shift, jump, and then sink her canines deep into the tender flesh of his slender throat. His blood would be warm; it would have that undefinable _zing_ quality that seemed to exist only in witch blood. It would be…so…easy.

But, as annoying and, to be honest, insane as he was, the man had deep pockets and she wasn’t quite ready to part with them yet. So she shook the thought, appealing as it was, away and focused on the conversation once again.

He stood behind his desk, leaned forward toward her in a stance designed to intimidate, his expression expectant.

“You’re frustrated. I get it,” she said, “but we’re closing in on her.”

“My patience is wearing very thin.”

“I can see that.”

“I want her back.”

“Again, I can see that.”

“But you’re not doing anything about it!” he bellowed.

“Maybe you should calm the hell down!” Penny shouted back.

All at once, it was as though someone or something had sucked the air out of the room and Chic was right in front of her. Penny sucked in a harsh breath. She hadn’t even seen him move.

He leaned over her, one hand braced on the cushion of the chair by her hip, the other on the back of the chair by her neck. He leaned his face in close to hers, invaded her space. She watched the knot of his jaw clinch. Un-clinch. Clinch. Un-clinch. His eyes took on an almost iridescent quality, seemed to glow. Became feral. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and void of any inflection, as though every human emotion that might exist with him had been switched off.

“I think…you should mind the way you speak to me, Penny,” he said.

Her lungs rattled as she tried to draw breath. She felt pinned to the chair, heat burned into her eyes from the intensity of his gaze. She tried to lift on of her arms and found that she couldn’t move it. Her entire body felt pressure as though there was a massive weight on it.

“I think…you should be very careful with your next few moments.”

Penny ran her dry tongue over her equally dry lips. All the moisture seemed to have evaporated from her mouth. She parted her lips to speak, “I…”

“Shh,” Chic said through puckered lips and touched the tip of his index finger to her gaped mouth, “No, Penny, don’t. The only thing I want to hear from you now is, ‘Yes, Chic, I’ll do better.’”

He looked at her. When she didn’t respond, he raised his pale eyebrows and nodded at her, indicating she should speak.

“Y-yes, Chic. I’ll do better,” she warbled.

“Good,” Chic nodded, “now, ‘I’m going to do everything I can to make sure to get your sister home to you.’”

Penny felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, but refused to let them fall, “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure to get your sister home to you.” 

“Excellent!” he chirped and stepped away from her, smiling as though nothing had just transpired.

As soon as he stepped away, it was as though the weight bad been lifted from her body. She could move. She could breathe. He walked back around behind his desk as Penny’s hand fluttered to her chest in attempt to calm her raging heart. Maybe she had been underestimating Chic Cooper all this time. She needed to rethink her strategy.

The sun was sitting dangerously low in the sky when the trio came across the crumbling, dilapidated building. It was only one story, but it sprawled. What had once been the parking lot was cracked asphalt and overgrown with weeds and tall grass. There was a battered sign that stood some thirty to forty feet in the air that read “Mot r od e.” The lengthy building held several doors in a row and identical, if mirrored windows. All tiny little reflections of themselves along a solitary gray wall. The doors were painted a peeling, dirty blue color. Some were off the hinges, one was snapped into two pieces, but there were at least three that appears closed and in tact. There were several broken windows and the overhang slanted due to a few broken support beams. It was, at best, a ramshackle place, but without Sweets around to scout ahead and the dwindling of the daylight sky had left Jughead without the luxury of his usual pickiness.

It would have to do.

Jughead cast a sideways glance at Betty, “We’ll bunk here tonight.”

She said nothing. Just nodded.

Hot Dog, however, let out a quiet whimper.

Jughead couldn’t say that he blamed their four-legged friend. Their chosen sanctuary for the night was a structurally compromised dump.

“Let’s go,” he said and started toward one of the still standing and, by all appearances, functional doors. Betty and Hot Dog marched along behind him. He tried to door. The knob wouldn’t turn and the portal itself wouldn’t budge.

He liked that about it.

He didn’t want to kick it in. He drew his knife, flicked it open with a quick jerk of his wrist, and wedged the blade into the crack between the door and the frame where he approximated the latch to be. Betty stepped forward and placed her hand on his wrist.

“Here,” she said, “let me.”

“I don’t want you expounding your energy on something like this,” Jughead replied and continued to wiggle the blade.

Betty tightened her grip on his wrist, her eyes twinkled, and her lips quirked up at the sides. “Oh, ye of little faith,” she said and pushed his hand and knife away from the door. She then reached her free hand to the back of her head and withdrew a small, thin, black metal object from her ponytail.

A…bobby pin?

She knelt down to one knee, eye level with the door and inserted the hairpin expertly into the slot.

Jughead grinned and let himself lean against the wall, “That’s pretty fuckin’ hot, Cooper.”

Betty smiled but didn’t look away from what she was doing, “Oh, Juggie, you have no idea.”

With that, there was an audible click and Betty twisted the knob and let the sturdy door fall open with a swish.

She stood and gave a little twirl, “Ta-da.”

The room was musky, dusty, and stuffy. Who knew the last time anyone or anything had been inside its walls? There was a bed in the center of the room with some faded floral bedspread covered in a layer greyish dust. There were two weathered brown bedside tables on either side of the bed and a battered old dresser across from the foot of it. In there far corner, there was a small round metal table that had collapsed on itself and an ugly brown upholstered chair that sat at an angle, propped up by the solitary leg that had yet to fall off. At the back of the room, directly ahead of the door, was a wall to wall counter with a sink and an equal sized mirror that had a crack in the upper right corner that had spiderwebbed across the whole.

Betty watched in marvel as Jug immediately took stock of what they had available to them. In less than twenty seconds, he seemed to have a plan of action. He crossed at once to the dresser and shoved bodily from the foot of the bed toward the door to barricade it for added protection. He shoved open the curtains to take advantage of what little sunlight they had left, then dragged the round top of the table to the middle of the room where the dresser had been. He then methodically disassembled the cushioned chair and composed a pyramid at the center of the table.

While he did that, Betty went to the sink and checked the faucet. She didn’t expect the water to run, but there was always that little kernel of hope. She got more than she’d anticipated. The rusted metal arm spit and sputtered out a blast of sludgy brown water and then hissed. At her thigh, Hot Dot quirked his head to the side in question. His doggy expression seemed to Betty to say ‘What exactly did you expect, lady?’

She glanced over her shoulder to make certain Jughead was still occupied, then breathed to her canine companion, “Don’t judge me.”

Hot Dog licked his lips then let his tongue loll out the side of his mouth in reply.

Betty nudged her way into the suite’s bathroom that held a chipped porcelain commode and an old style fiberglass tub; a moldy plastic shower curtain halfway ripped from the rings. She heard a _drip drip drip_ and when she pushed the curtain to the side, she gasped at the small but steady trickle of water that was leaking from the shower head. She reached out, grasped the nozzle, and yanked. There was gurgle and then, yet again, the water burst from the shower head. It was sludgy and brown, but then ran clear after just a few seconds.

Betty let out a peel of laughter, “Jug! Jug! We have fresh water!”

She hurried back into the main room to dig her canteen from her bag, where she found Jughead that Jughead was standing by the table with the pyramid piled remains of the wooden, upholstered chair. He patted at his jacket, dug his hands into his jeans, and continued to feel around his body.

“Juggie?”

“I can’t find my lighter.”

She looked at the small triangle of wood amidst the center of the metal table, “You want to start a fire in here? Is that…safe?”

Jughead smiled, “Just a small one. Quick. We need to cook the squirrels we trapped earlier for dinner. Then we’ll use the table to board over the window for the night and hunker down.”

“Solid plan.”

“Good news about the water. Dammit!”

“Jug,” Betty said.

“I had it not an hour ago…”

“Jug,” Betty said again.

Jughead finally looked up at her. Betty smiled, then turned her gaze toward the chair-cum-kindling. She focused on one particular piece of fluff from the stuffing of the chair, pushed her energy toward it, felt the heat from her body, the heat from her own energy, pouring out of her and into that tiny bit of fluff. Jughead followed her gaze.

The bit of fluff began to smoke before it finally glowed orange and ignited. Betty then expanded her focus and energy on the flame, tended it, stoked it, encouraged it. The small flame soon spread and grew and less than forty-five seconds from beginning to end, the entire small wooden pile was a healthy camp-style fire.

Betty let her focus break, released a deep exhale, blinked several times, and turned to meet Jughead’s eyes. His gaze burned almost as hot as that fire. She smiled.

“You are exceptional, aren’t you?” he breathed.

Betty crossed the room to stand in front of him, “You’re just now figuring that out, Juggie?”

The smile that crossed his face was sheepish, so unlike the arrogant half smirks he was constantly throwing her way. This smile made him look young and boyish and almost…shy. “No,” he said, his eyes downcast, the tips of his ears reddened, “Only just now voicing it aloud.”

They filled their canteen and water bottles and put a dish of water on the floor for Hot Dog, They ate their dinner, put out the fire, then drew the curtains and secured the table over the window with a little help from Betty’s smoldering gaze.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Betty said as pulled her jacket off and noticed Jughead eyeing the floor.

Jughead’s gaze snapped up, “What?”

Betty crawled onto the bed, then across it toward him, “I said, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not sleeping on the floor. “

She reached out, slipped her hand into his, and pulled him onto the mattress with her. She wanted him with her, beside her. She wanted to touch him. She couldn’t begin to explain where the desire had come from, but it was there. Blatant. Unignorable. She curled her body into the warm embrace of his allowed herself a moment to appreciate how things had changed in so short a time, though it had felt like years that they’d been together. Fighting for their lives together could have that effect. It created a very real comradery, a bond, a connection, a…trust.

At the side of the bed, Hot Dog let out yawn before his breathing evened out in slumber.

Betty twisted around, her head in the nook of Jughead’s shoulder, she eased her leg in between his thighs to further wrap herself around him. She looked up into his eyes that seemed to glow in the all but non-existent evening light. God, he had beautiful eyes. He was all around beautiful. She felt so drawn to him. Pulled. Attracted.

“Tell me something, Jug,” she whispered.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he breathed back, bumped his nose against hers. 

She liked that; that sweet little touch. He was this badass warrior. She had seen that with her own eyes. But he was so tender with her. So gentle. So sweet.

“Why aren’t you like the other Serpents?” she asked.

“How do you mean?”

“You know, angry witch hunters? Werewolf slayers? Night-Dweller trackers?”

“Ah,” Jug nodded. He leaned his head back and Betty found herself momentarily distracted by his adam’s apple. She wanted kiss it.

She didn’t.

He looked at her and released a breath, “My…father. He was the leader of the Serpents. I trained under him. When I first went out into the field, I was in his patrol. He…encouraged me to question the orders of the council; encouraged me to question their beliefs and teachings. He wanted me to ask questions and draw my own opinions from what I saw in the world.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw that everyone out there is an individual. Everyone has fears and love and anger and hope. I’ve met witches that will take in anyone if they need help. I’ve met humans who were kidnapping were children for slavery, I’ve helped the werewolves that worked to take them down and take them out. So far, the only being that I’ve met that I would honestly classify as evil are the Dwellers. They don’t seem to have emotion. They’re clever. But they don’t feel. They don’t love. They seem driven by one basic necessity: to feed.”

“Hmm,” Betty said, she didn’t want to think about the things that went bump in the night. She wanted to focus on Jughead. “I like the sound of your father.”

“Yeah.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s not with the Serpents anymore.”

Betty waited for him to say more until it became clear that that was everything that he was going to say on the subject. She nodded, “Okay…what about Greendale? What’s the story with you and Bret?”

Jughead chuckled and tightened his arms around Betty. It felt like a dream to hold her so he was going to let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of it for as long as he could. “There is no story with me and Bret.”

She smirked at him and he was briefly distracted by the plumpness of her lips, “That’s not how it sounded, _Forsythe_.”

“I’m gonna punch him in the mouth for that. It’ll teach him to shut up.”

“Come on. It’s going to be my new home, you know?” Betty pled, and God what a reminder that was for him, “Tell me how you know of it.”

Jughead didn’t want to get into it. Not with her. It wasn’t a story that he was particularly proud of. He’d been newly nineteen, leading his own patrol for not quite a full year, arrogant as hell, when he’d helped a young boy who’d been lost in the forest. The boy had turned out to be a Kinkle.

To be granted access to the coven to reunite the boy with his family, he’d been bespelled, a damp burlap sack put over his head, and then he’d reawakened within the walls of the coven. 

“I…helped a boy find his family. He turned out to be a member of the Greendale coven. They were…grateful. There was…a celebration.”

_Laughing dark eyes. Crimson lips. Sharp, white teeth._

Betty quirked an eyebrow, “Did something happen at the celebration, Jug?”

“Well…”

“Oh,” Betty said, sudden understanding in her tone, “did some _one_ happen at the celebration, Juggie?”

“I’d rather not get into it.”

She giggled and burrowed in closer to him like a kitten searching for warmth, “You’re cute, Juggie.”

God, he was completely infatuated with this woman. He needed to keep that under control. He’d rendezvous with his contacts, get her safely to Greendale, and then never see her again. He had too much that he needed to accomplish. He had a council to overthrow and he could do that if he allowed himself to be distracted by bog green eyes and a perfectly shaped mouth.

“Let’s get some sleep.”

The words had no sooner left his mouth than Betty let out an absolutely adorable yawn. She snuggled a little closer and he tightened his hold, unable to resist the urge to run his fingers along the bare skin at the edge of her waistband.

“Goodnight, Juggie,” she mumbled and he felt her hands slide beneath the material of his shirt to rest against the naked flesh of his back. His breath hitched ever-so-slightly at the feeling of her small hands on him and he watched her eyelids flutter closed.

“Goodnight, Betty.”

Penny Peabody had _fought_ for her pack. As a natural born werewolf, she had known she was destined to be Alpha from the moment she was merely ten years old and had punched a thirteen-year-old boy in the face for pushing her off of a tire swing. From a young age, she had known that she was smarter than most of her peers and some of her elders. Once she hit puberty, she began to plan her ascent.

At nineteen, she seduced Roderigo Mortiguez, her pack’s alpha. He was more than twice her age, but she was enthusiastic and creative every time he took her to his bed. And in her time there, she was far from idle. She studied him; she learned his strengths, his weaknesses, his tells. She learned to read his body. She analyzed the decisions he made and the reasoning behind them.

When she turned twenty-one, she put her stratagems to use and challenged the old man for his dominance.

Angry and betrayed, Roderigo had spat at her, “I won’t go easy on you just because you’re a cunt, lucky Penny!”

He’d meant to hurt her with the endearment, but he underestimated her complete lack of emotion. They’d shifted. She’d gone straight for the ankle he’d rolled three days earlier during his morning workout. Once she’d had him down, she’d pinned him and snapped his thick neck with one powerful bite.

The pack had hailed her as the Alpha immediately.

Several years of undisputed power later, Tallboy had stumbled upon her pack. He’d thought she would be easy pickings. A female alpha; and a petite one at that. She’d made short work of him in battle, but she’d always been cunning. She recognized his usefulness.

He was strong and he had an intimidating look. And once she beat him, he deferred to her command easily enough. It suited her to have a big, strong man at her right hand. He’d been her second ever since. Her, Tallboy and her pack of “sweet little Ghoulies” as she called affectionately them.

But now, this pencil necked little twerp of a witch thought he could pushed her around and it was really starting to get on her nerves. If Chic Cooper thought that he was any kind of a match for her, he had another think coming. He might have his abilities; he might have his money; he might think himself completely invincible, but if playing the whore to Roderigo had taught her anything it was that _everybody_ had a weakness.

Penny’s pack had taken over an old abandoned underground military bunker long before she was born. It had always been their home base. Penny walked through the dimly lit concrete halls to one of the “common rooms.” She relaxed into dingy couch that had one been a grey color, but had gone a kind of green with age, use, and filth. She lit a cigarette and looked around. She hadn’t been there five minutes when Tallboy entered and took the seat on the ugly brown recliner across from her.

“How was the meeting with the psycho?” he asked as he settled in. 

“He wants his sister back and he wants her back now,” Penny said, raised her eyebrows in faux surprise, and took a long drag of her cigarette.

“There’s something we didn’t know.”

“Right,” Penny shook her head, “I’m starting to lose _my_ patience with our generous benefactor.”

Tallboy leaned forward in his chair, braced his massive forearms on his tree trunk thighs, “What do you mean?”

“I’m starting to feel like we should figure out a way to empty those deep pockets of his once and for all…and then finally be rid of him.”

“How do we do that?”

“What have I told you from the beginning, Tallboy?” she said on a puff of smoke, “Everyone has a weakness; a soft spot to insert the knife. You just have to know where it is, and once you know where it is, you have to know when to twist said knife.”

“So…his weakness…this sister, right?”

“Right.”

“But we haven’t found the sister.”

“Have you ever know Mal to not catch his prey once he’s on the scent?”

Tallboy didn’t respond which was answer enough. Penny allowed the silence to linger in the air for a moment, just to nail home her point.

“Exactly,” she said, “but once Mal has her, instead of meeting up with Chic directly, I think maybe we bring her back here. Maybe we keep her in our back pocket for a little while.”

Tallboy’s eyes lit up, “Then we have all of the cards.”

“Bingo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that's where we are. What do you think happened to Jug in Greendale?? I want your theories! Ideas? How do you feel about it?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So that was chapter one. Don't be too hard on Juggie! He's doing his job and he does his best to make it up to Betty! I promise! 
> 
> So, what do you think? Do you like witch Betty? I will get more into that! I'm trying to build my world so there will be a bit of exposition.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Leave a comment, leave a kudos, leave me anything!
> 
> Kisses to all! Bye now!


End file.
